#my replies are pan's perceived truth

[heartlcssboy]

Are you really all that different from Jamie? Him loving that Sally girl, and you coming to love Wendy?

Peter's eyebrows knitted together in confusion and it wasn't due to the word choice of 'love' as some might have assumed. Peter had no qualms about proclaiming his love for anything or anyone. Now identifying the different types of love for what they were was another matter entirely and one that he couldn't understand peoples' need to pin down and define.

But he couldn't see what Jamie's betrayal had to do with Wendy and him...The two dynamics weren't comparable at all and even if they had been, what did that matter?

"We were completely different! I gave everything for Jamie and all he did was take and take until he decided to leave. Sal and Wendy have nothing to do with any of it. And Sal could have been any girl. She wasn't special. He just wanted an excuse."

[wetcatspellcaster]

I debated reblogging this (mostly bc I hate putting my thoughts out and being perceived) but I have been thinking about it since I saw it yesterday. so tbh wanted to give OP credit where credit was due for being genuinely Thought Provoking, and give their hard work more reach.

I think some equivalences in this table work better than others and there's nuances a graphic by necessity can't capture: many people headcanon Orin as related to Durge vs. Gortash, and gaining Minthara required killing refugees before the patch - I think maybe Larian realised they were doing her character and Emma Gregory's work a disservice, and that's why they patched it out. "Is it ok to commit murder in the name of best feminist praxis? Discuss." (This is a joke, as murder in a videogame is not a moral reflection of the player it just sounded funny in my head.)

... but BG3 does have racism/misogyny problems and it's silly to pretend otherwise - and I think that's why the 'minor' character equivalences work better than others. It also made me think about the number of 'single' male NPCs encountered in the game, versus the number of female NPCs that are then placed in relationships (Aylin, Isobel, Alfira, Lakrissa), not to mention a number of the female NPCs with detailed interactions with Tav (like Arabella and Mol) who are literally, children.

The reason I wanted to reblog however (and I'm not disagreeing with OP, merely externalising some thoughts) is bc I think many of these character focuses are so influenced by Tav and people's choice around the writing of their Tav. all the examples I give above link to that (is the charater related to Tav/Durge, is the character a reflection of the Tav's moral choices, is the NPC free for a Tav/NPC pairing).

BG3 is a very OC and OC/canon character heavy fandom, and I think a lot of those OCs are women rather than men. In other news, water is wet.

OP's work doesn't necessarily have to cover this, but I was thinking about it, and the more I thought about it, the weirder I felt. Bc discussing misogyny in this fandom is hard, when you ignore one of the most major ways that women are written into the game, which is via Tav/Durge. I think a lot of the time, when fic authors write incredibly detailed, interesting female OCs, that work isn't seen as feminist, it's seen as ... self-insert, wish-fulfilment, author avatar, blah blah blah, and rarely, if ever, acknowledged as creating a nuanced and multifaceted female character... which feeds into the misogyny OP is talking about, right? Rather than having written a woman, or even a queer woman in the case of bi/pan female characters, an author is dismissed as 'writing a 2D insert/nameless body to get railed by Halsin/Astarion/Gortash/Raphael' etc... even if that's not the work that's happening? And even if that person has put a lot of thought into that woman, AO3 tagging will not reflect that.

I realise I just sound like I'm covering my own ass, as someone who writes 'female char/Astarion'. Maybe I am. But I've literally done this to myself - I remember receiving an ask saying 'did you write a deliberately feminist fic by giving your Tav agency?' and my reply was 'lol i'm queer, woman stepping on evil man hot'. I dismissed myself??? But the truth is I write OC fanfiction bc my OC is one of my favourite and most interesting parts of the story I am writing. and particularly in BG3 fandom and it's overlap with D&D, where character creation/insertion is an integral part of the experience, I feel like dismissing all female Tavs/Durges as only giving more attention to male characters or not participating in the writing of women is also frustrating... just bc it's another layer of misogyny/comphet wildness, to assume authors of female main characters aren't using that woman as a vehicle for anything other than lust for a pixelated man.

Anyway, that's not what i think OP is doing, and I think their points are totally fair, this is more just a post that provoked a lot of my own thinking that I then wanted to share. TL;DR I think a lot of the attention and nuanced writing female characters get in this fandom is actually centred on Tav/Durge, for a multitude of reasons, and yes that can still be frustrating but it's not actually something that should be dismissed. A lot of people are writing some really interesting women with a multitude of different strengths/flaws, moral compasses, backgrounds, sexual orientations, etc... they just also happen to be a romance with Astarion or Gale, for instance.

And yes, there is still a bias there towards NPCs, and that's not even touching on the racism behind the canon and in-game writing of the companion romances. But reducing this veritable plethora of female main characters down to 'just another annoying Astarion/Gale-mancing Tav' is itself sexist and misogynistic, if that makes sense.

(Again, this is nothing that OP has done or is perpetuating, more just a frustration I have inside my own brain that reading this post helped me to articulate. I'll shut up now lol.)

A common issue in fandom spaces is female characters ignored in favor of their male counterparts, and one of the biggest reasons I see given is that the women just aren't as interesting as the men. They're placed in lesser roles with less story impact, less personality, less character development, so of course the men get more fan interest.

With that in mind, here's 9 sets of characters who DO have comparable characterization, plot relevance/presence, and personal development -- and how many tagged works each character has on Archive of Our Own. Spoilers: it's pretty bad.

[presumenothing]

FICTOBER 2020 – PROMPTS #01 TO #05 – WTNV/FMA AU – GEN, NO WARNINGS

📻 PREVIOUSLY ON: episode one – pilot

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“NO, COME BACK, said the spider to the fly, but we all know how the rest of that story goes.

“Welcome to Resembool.”

“TODAY, THERE IS THIS: a story about someone.

“This information is less helpful than you might think. All stories are about someone, in the singular or plural or uncountable. It’s what makes them stories, instead of disparate collections of facts and events loosely coiled about some narrative anchor.”

“HERE, THEN, are the particular someones this story concerns itself with – a man who is not large, and a man who is not small.

“Of course, this is only one way of describing them, and not even the one most people might use. Truth is not often equivalent to relevance, but for the purposes of this story it is close enough anyway.

“The man who is not large sits at a desk with a phone. The scene is not much different to anyone else sitting at a desk with a phone, and indeed not much different from his usual behaviour at all, except that he is frowning.

“This is, in turn, because his calls are not getting through.”

“AT THIS MOMENT, the man who is not small arrives. There is very little in common in the way of physical appearance between these two men, save for the possibility that if you ignore everything else about the situation, you might quite understandably think that both of their faces are made for smiling.

“Neither one is smiling now. The man who is not small crouches a little when entering the room, as some people who are not small are wont to do. No luck, sir? he asks.

“No luck, the man who is not large agrees, but not in a way that is frustrated.

“Or rather – it is true that he is frustrated, but that is not the most relevant thing. He taps his fingers, looks to the ceiling, and thinks.”

-

“WE CUT BRIEFLY AWAY from this story to the community classifieds.

“Item: Curtis Butchers is looking to hire an additional staff. The job requires comfort around cleavers and other large knives, but not butchery experience since you will find yourself learning rapidly on the job, and anyway that’s the easy part. What’s the hard part? Wouldn’t you like to know. To apply, head down to the store and challenge one person to arm wrestling. Who you choose will be the first part of your interview. Good luck!

“Item: Ice-cream truck found in the parking lot of Dark Owl Records, vacant but in good condition. If this is yours, contact Rebecca Catalina, owner of Dark Owl Records. If this is not yours, but you are interested, maybe contact her anyway. She has some interesting ideas about a joint venture of sorts.”

“AND FINALLY – item: Base to Phoenix, town square, ten o’clock. That’s… literally all this last sheet of paper says. No clue what that’s about, but doubtless the recipient must have understood the message anyway.

“This has been the community classifieds.”

-

“AND NOW, WE RETURN TO the story at hand.

“…so I figured it was worth a try, the man who is not large is saying to the man who is not small. I have a theory that– never mind, we’ll know if it’s true or not based on how this pans out.

“The man who is not small does not say anything aloud in response to this statement. The contemplative silence is uncharacteristic of him, or at least how people usually perceive him, but then again everything they are doing now is uncharacteristic of how people usually perceive them.”

“PERCEPTION, AS IT HAPPENS, can often be neither relevant nor true.

“He’s going to kill me if this actually goes through, the man who is not large remarks, in a manner all too cavalier for such a comment. Ringing him up just to talk his ear off.

“That didn’t stop you before, the man who is not small observes.

“The man who is not large laughs. It really hasn’t, yeah. But who wouldn’t be happy to hear my dulcet tones? Or, more importantly… the news of my beloved wife and lovely daughter!”

“THE MAN WHO IS NOT SMALL studies the stack of photographs that have been thrust in his face. She really is growing up well, he says, and this impression at least is true if not particularly relevant.

“Although it is very relevant to the man who is not large, judging by the breadth of his grin. You’re a good man, Major. Ever consider having kids yourself?”

-

“LET’S PAUSE HERE AND TAKE A LOOK at traffic.

“There is a woman. We will call her Emma, and I won’t tell you if that is her real name – or more accurately I can’t, for reasons that will soon become clear.

“Emma came to this town just over two years ago, bringing only her daughter with her. Old Woman Pinako, smoking a pipe on her porch near the car lot, would see her arrival and think privately that it seemed more like a fleeing.

“Then she would extinguish her pipe and come forward to offer assistance anyway. They would not form any kind of instant trust, because Old Woman Pinako had been right in her guess, but both are practical women, in the way that you tended to get when you are adjacent to someone who practices alchemy.”

“BUT THAT WAS THE PAST. This is now.

“Now, Emma listens to the radio, hears about the newcomers to town, and worries. Her daughter is older, now, and I will tell you nothing about her either, besides that she has brown braids and blue eyes and a smile like the sun. Sometimes, she plays happily with the dog that welcomes her at Rockbell Automail, like Den reminds her of a family pet she was too young to remember.

“Sometimes, out the corner of Emma’s eye, her daughter bears a different form, like she is not sure what shape she should have when no one is looking. Sometimes it reminds her of the shadowed shapes she saw in the basement lab, the ones her husband only smiled about when she asked, scared and desperate and furious: you did this? Is this also what you’re planning to do to me, to N–

“And so Emma wonders if she got them away from her husband quickly enough, and worries if the newcomers are looking to bring her back. If they suspect what her husband, the alchemist, had been trying to do.”

“THE GENERAL ANSWER TO ALL OF THESE QUESTIONS is that she did what she had to, and will continue to do so. The specific answers are yes, probably no, and no.

“The real answer is that none of these answers will be enough to reassure her, but at least they might help.

“This has been traffic. And now, the weather.”

-

-

“SO THAT’S THE WEATHER FORECAST FOR this coming week, but perhaps there was something you were more keen to hear about. A phone call, perhaps.

“Alas, listeners, I’m afraid I don’t much news for you on that front. You see, there are municipal regulations requiring enclosed booths around payphones to prevent undue weather damage to the equipment. As such, when the phone in the town square rang at ten, and a man stopped to answer it, there was a door he could pull closed behind him.

“However, the regulations say nothing about making the booth proof against eavesdropping, only rain, and so some parts of his words still drifted out anyway, stolen snatches of half a conversation: why did we let you choose the codenames? and yes, Eagle is fine, just itching to shoot something and I’ll report in as soon as I have something to–

“THIS LAST PART is said with forehead pressed against glass, eyes scanning the darkened streets outside, and presumably this is related to the way he stops suddenly, mid-sentence. A hurried murmur, too low to even guess at, and then he is hanging up and stepping out, pushing the door open.

“Who’s there? the man asks, measured in the way of someone who expects to be answered, and the words do not hang suspended in the night for long before a figure steps out of the shadows, hood drawn down around his shoulders.”

“THE MAN’S STANCE changes completely: he stiffens, and his tone is no longer measured when he says Marcoh? What are you doing here?

“It’s Mauro, the Sheriff replies, pulling his customary hood back up, and I could ask you the same thing, Lieutenant Colonel.

“It’s Colonel, actually, the man corrects, but not in a way that is actually meant to be a correction. I told everyone when we first arrived, it’s just for surveillance.

“The Sheriff says nothing, but the silence is loud enough anyway: that answer was unacceptable, try again.

“They’re planning something, and this town is standing in their way. Either it submits, or– you know what they’ll do. I can’t let that happen again, he finishes with an urgency that makes the words sound true, and relevant, and completely opaque to anyone else.”

“BUT THAT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED. This has been a story about someone, after all, none of which are us, and just because something is true and relevant to you does not guarantee that you will understand it at all.

“Stay tuned next for the crackling jingle of a blue truck parked by a records store, and the worried weight of a mother tucking her daughter in while wondering what will come tomorrow.

“Good night, Resembool. Good night.”

.

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📻 TODAY’S PROVERB:

There are many things in this world worth an arm and a leg. If it’s not your own, at least.

(AO3)

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happy inaugural fma day to me, and yes i’m celebrating it by putting out 100% self-indulgent content that is only borderline recognisable as fma because i can!! this also serves as a somewhat nonstandard fill to the first five fictober prompts, one for each section of the episode. i had to contort pretzels around myself putting some of them in, but it was a fun challenge anyway

this episode’s weather (which is arbitrarily decided by which 80s song is currently stuck in my head) was “eye in the sky” by the alan parsons project

characters introduced this episode, for those keeping score at home: maes as the man who is not large (who codenamed roy and riza as phoenix and eagle respectively for this op), alex as the man who is not small, curtis butchers as big rico’s, rebecca catalina as michelle nguyen, ex-mrs tucker pseudonym emma and nina as alive and well because to hell with shou tucker, and last but not least – marcoh as the sheriff of night vale, just because

[jackbabewang]

Chapter 2 — Bad habits

Word count ‧ 3,730

Chapter summary ‧ You must be out of your mind to think that he actually cared.

Masterlist

You finally got your eyes to cooperate to stay open and looked up to see a silhouette of a man in very close proximity with you. Your heart leaped to your throat, suddenly remembered that you were in Yoonoh’s room. 

“Jung… Yoonoh,” you said his name in a faltering and trembling voice. You dared not to move and stared dumbly at him. The touch of his hand on your bare skin sent streaks of fire racing up and down your body. 

He seemed to hear your voice then his movements came to a complete stop. You felt his breath warm on your neck, heard his heavy breathing in your ear. 

“Keep going, or not?” he asked, his voice deeper than before, huskier, and filled with unspoken desire. 

Your nervous system shut down, but quickly came to life in a rush of heat. Your knees trembled and your stomach clenched. Your breath was uneven when your lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came out. It was intense and then suddenly he pulled back and lifted the blanket and made his way to the bathroom in the darkness. 

You had no idea what time it was when you woke up last night, but it was an absolute certainty that your eyes were wide smack open till the next morning. And after Yoonoh went into the bathroom, he had been out of his room since. Where did he go?

You dilly-dallied, slipped out of bed, padded to the bathroom and damn—your head was swimming with dizziness along with pounding from the two or three hours of sleep. You stood before the mirror, you could see the stark evidence of the episode from the night before—that your pyjamas looked a bit crumpled. You had no idea how you were going to face him any later. 

It was still early in the morning, not quite seven, your parents had not gotten up yet. All your clothes were in that room and you were afraid that you could not get in there at the moment. You remembered you had clothes hung outside that you washed yesterday and so you went downstairs to get a fresh set of clothes. 

Chop, chop, chop. Slice, slice, slice. The sound of the knife cutting through and landing against the wooden board drew you into the doorway, onto the threshold of the kitchen. Assuming your mother had woken up rather early. You opened your mouth—to call out “mom”—but the word was suddenly stuck in your throat as soon as you came eyeball-to-eyeball with the last person you wanted to see just then. You jolted with the shock and spun on your heels preparing to sprint away. 

“Come here.” 

The second after you whirled, Yoonoh called out to you faintly. Did he not feel awkward at all? 

Right, it was him who took advantage of you, how could he possibly feel awkward about it.

Reluctantly you turned back around, somehow keeping your face perfectly calm. “My! You’re up early today.”

He brought some thinly sliced spring onion into a small bowl, without any expression on his face he echoed, “When was I never earlier than you?”

Pfft! Only very slight bit, what’s there to be hoity-toity about?

“Wash your hands.” He commanded. 

“What for?” 

He did not answer but turned around to continue what he had been doing without giving a damn on you. On instinct you rolled your eyes and padded to the sink. You ran the water and held your hands under the stream, rubbing palm to palm as an indication whatsoever before turning off the faucet. Yoonoh swiveled his head rather abruptly and stared at your hands, “Wash with soap.”

It’s not like you’re a kid anymore, so what’s with the soap? Killing bacteria? You grumbled internally but not wanting to waste time and energy bickering over petty things so you had it his way and washed your hands once again with an antibacterial soap. 

As you dried your hands with soft strokes of the towel, Yoonoh pointed to one, two, three and four eggs in the basket then said, “Peel the eggs.”

After all that fuss made about hygiene, was it his germophobia acting up then? Only just peeling eggs and you thought he wanted you to knead a dough instead.

You obliged without uttering a syllable and with every murky shell that peeled off you felt your cheeks grew warmer. 

That… bared in its all glory… last night you shared a bed with someone as equally au naturel, and… 

Stop, stop! 

You became even more flushed than a minute ago, with bright red spots appearing on your cheeks. Yet Yoonoh noticed every detail with his sharpness as Hawkeye’s, giving no quarter that he pointed out, “What’s with your face matching the colour of pig’s blood early in the morning?”

He could’ve gone further exaggerating the metaphoricity; it would not hurt any less either way. 

Noticing your silence, he seasoned his remark with malice, “Or, you’re shy about what happened last night?” 

“Hmph,” he smirked, without another word he spun around and poured a little olive oil in the pan. 

Pervert. 

You did not want him to see your face, your embarrassed reaction to his comment so you could only turn your back to him as well and not pick an argument with him.

After breakfast, your parents had to catch the return flight back to Ulsan and so Yoonoh drove them to the airport. In wishing you goodbye, your mother held onto your hands, and over and over she was only concerned about Yoonoh that you might not take good care of him, leaving him to starve or freeze or wither up at leisure.

You were certain the woman standing before you was, indeed, not your biological mother. 

Until your parents had settled in at the boarding gate then you returned home. As Yoonoh drove past a grocery store, you suddenly remembered that you were out of toothpaste so you made him stopped by. 

Afraid that he might get impatient with waiting, you headed straight to the sales assistant for the placement of the product, impulsively grabbing a box of toothpaste and checked out at the counter. 

Right after you walked out through the automatic doors labeled “Exit Only” you saw an oh-so-slim sylph sashaying towards the direction of Yoonoh’s car. The man got down, apparently completely clueless what he said to her that the very next moment she was in the passenger seat. 

A message came in, signaled by the slight vibration of the device in your hand, from Yoonoh: Something came up, had to leave first. Get yourself a ride home.

He drove away and you watched until his car was out of sight. Gingerly you moved your thumbs over the screen, typing out a reply: Ok.

In the center of your palm laid a dull silver coin of 500won of the amount of change. It was cool and, weirdly, heavy. 

Five years ago, 500won would have taken you through the main areas of downtown of Seoul. But now, 500won worth nothing to what seemed to be the cheapest transportation in the entire world. 

During your summer break from middle school, you and your little companions would walk miles to travel around the city and returned on foot evening just to reserve that 500won for snacks. The distance of those journeys was never concerned, surprisingly you did not feel tired at all be it three hours, or that was because you were snacking along the way. 

But, as you grew older, and supposed to be tougher, thirty minutes of walking already had you feeling tired and panting, the soles of your feet hurt. 

It took you a little over an hour to walk back home from the airport. When you finally reached the front door and opened it, you could have just sit in the foyer and would not move a finger for hours on end. The fact that you made it into the house with persistence was enough to say that you were absolutely soiled. 

A wave of utter exhaustion overtook you, and eventually you felt sleepy so you took a quick shower and went to bed. Till five thirty in the evening, you woke up. For so long you slept it was the reason that you had not sleep a wink last night. 

You got up and filled yourself a glass of water. You gently raised your head high enough so you could drink without choking. The water was cool and refreshing and you sipped a few mouthfuls. You had not realized how thirsty you were, then your stomach grumbled, or how hungry. And so you made yourself a bowl of noodles then washed the breakfast dishes. 

Yoonoh was not home yet, you had no idea what had he been doing or where was he with Sooyoung, or he might not return even… 

Tidying up the living room after, dishwashing, you made your way upstairs again. Had you been sleeping all the afternoon through, you did not feel signs of drowsiness. 

Flipping through pages, reading passages randomly, yet you could not commit to reading the book in its entirety, so you pulled out your phone. 

Ever since you graduated from college, you had lost contact with many of your friends except for your dear Jennie. And you called her for long, giggly, pointless chats about the minutiae of life, not knowing when or how the conversation led to Yoonoh. 

Jennie: Honestly, about your marriage to him, it’s kinda unbelievable, but bound to happen.

Y: What was bound to happen? 

Jennie: Even though I don’t know him well, he seemed to be a cold person to me, it’s the truth. I couldn’t deny that I wasn’t shaken when I found out in high school that we have a senior that’s smart and so good-looking. But every single time when I greeted him he just ignored me, and I’m like ‘forget about it’ and moved on. 

Jennie: But then again, I’m not the only shameless one. A lot of girls tried to talk to him and got ignored, except you. Every time you walked past him and need not to say anything, his eyes went to you instinctively. 

Jennie: And I’d also realized that you’re the only person he talked to, that’s the only time his poker face showed expressions, which is why we’d all thought that out of all the women in the world, he’d choose you. 

Frankly speaking, Jennie transferred to different school in 12th grade, she had no idea of the presence of another. 

Y: Was his face like this every time he saw me? 🙄 This kinda expression was it? 😒 

Jennie: Dang, those two. Accurate!

Y: … 

And how did they even perceive that as signs of interest?

Jennie descended from a family of scholars, her father an archeologist while her mother a college professor, eventually their thinking was old fashioned—positively feudal. Watching their daughter of nearing thirty and had no male relation of potential son-in-law, they were undeniably concerned. 

When Jennie was still in New Zealand, never had they ever brought up the topic in their phone calls. However merely returned for a few days, the poor girl had been getting her ear chewed off. 

She grumbled, “Had I known it’s gonna be like this, I wouldn’t come back.”

Gloating over her misery, you pricked the bubbles of truth, “I guess your parents were afraid that you’ll find yourself a kiwi husband so they never pressed you about it. Now that they’ve coaxed you to come back, of course they’re gonna seize the opportunity to settle you down with a domestic spouse.” 

She banged her head against the table, “That’s racist, racist! Why’s my life so miserable?”

You lifted the cup of fresh coffee to your lips, blowing on it prior to taking a sip, not even trying to console her at this point. 

Your supposed “hang out” for the day was because of her desperately crying for help earlier in the morning that her parents had arranged a blind date for her. 

She had never done anything like that, which was why she was extra nervous and dragged you out from your house to be that… third wheel. 

The more she talked about it the more she grew restless and finally she slumped motionless on the table as if her body was hollowed out. You intended to remind her of her hair getting into the coffee, but before you could even speak up, a hand came out of nowhere and brushed out her messy strands. 

Assuming that it was you, she lifted her head and grabbed ahold of the hand, then as if feeling an unusual sensation, aggressively surprised, “Who are you?”

The hand belonged to a remarkably handsome man with dark eyes and hair; well behaved, very courteous, very well-mannered, radiating all—Jennie’s designated partner for the blind date. 

Maybe he was equally unfamiliar with the social engagement which he had also brought along a company as emotional support. 

Therefore, what was supposed to be a blind date for two, appeared to be for a pair now. 

Jennie’s partner, Kim Doyoung, came from a family of scholars as well; his friend went by the name Qian Kun, whose parents ran a small business. 

You were struggling to manage a conversation with Kun and at the same time observing the other two, seemed like she already had the urge to run for her life, meanwhile the man was more of a gentleman that there was no way for the usually bold Jennie to lie her desire to escape. 

As for the impression that Doyoung gave you… it was a positive that he had taken an interest in her. 

No no no, but the way he looked at Jennie was definitely like… he was gazing upon his lover.

It gave an indication that they had known each other for a long time. 

Interesting. 

Kun was untalkative, but he was polite, the kind of person that would only answer questions, not offer more and kept silent when not. Though he lent a sense of comfort and harmony, but lacked existence at the same time. Thankfully he was born charming that even when he did not speak, people would almost stop and stare at him. 

More than a little while at the cafe, Doyoung offered to buy dinner for everyone. Jennie had wanted to reject however under the supervision of her mother with a text message querying about their progress, she gritted her teeth and made it happen in case she would be having her parents breathing down her neck.

Doyoung only ate a little and then stuffing Jennie with so much food that it was visibly to you that she had lost patience with the man. 

It was yet the end, that you proceeded to the next round at a karaoke bar. Somewhat dubious that Jennie had reached the limit of her tolerance, or she intended him to retreat. Who used to have a wonderful singing voice was intentionally going off pitch, and picked a trot song that she belted out from deep within her soul. 

It was to the point that you, being a tone-deaf, could not help but grew annoyed at her awful singing. 

She was rather ferocious that night that she bitterly suggested to compete Doyoung in drinking. Clearly she was a lightweight but insisted the attendant to serve bottles and bottles of soju. 

Your eyes bulged in surprise as you stared at the dozen of alcohol, you contemplated warning her but out of the blue you registered the changing gaze of Jennie on Doyoung. 

She cracked open a bottle of soju and slammed it on the table with a loud smack. She looked at him provocatively, speaking, “If you get through me tonight, I’ll try to date you for good, deal?”

Both you and Kun gaped at the pair in silence. There was a ghost of a smile crossed Doyoung’s face then he reached over to snatched the bottle from her grip, “You don’t have to drink, I’ll finish all of these, as long as you don’t go back on your word.”

Next thing you all witnessed him drowning bottle to bottle, ravenously. Till the third bottle, he was unable to swallow anymore, clear transparent liquor escaped from the corner of his mouth. Jennie roared, “Don’t let it drip!” 

He shot a glance at her then ushered Kun to bring him another bottle. 

Kun said nothing, and did not bother advising him, without a word he fetched another dozen of soju. You watched him as a small smirk crept onto your face, Doyoung was discreet in choosing friends, you thought. 

Specifically how many bottles he had downed, you had lost count of it. He was completely wasted and could not even sit steadily. 

You could not bear to watch another moment more and wanted to convince Jennie to make him stop, but in that sense, it meant that she would have to raise the white flag and date him for real. But acknowledging the cruel fact that she had not had even a slither of interest in him, you gave up instead after multiple failed attempts. 

In a way everything just came to an end, there was not an outcome between Jennie and Doyoung. However on the way back, you could sense the bad omen in your friend. 

You kept your voice calm and neutral, but there was clear teasing in your tone, “That was a difficult one, seems like you can’t get rid of him any way.” 

Jennie went silent for a moment while she switched gears mentally, “At first I thought he was familiar but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly who he was until I saw that he was left handed during dinner then I suddenly remembered that he’s that douchebag Kim Dongyoung.” 

“Dongyoung? That sounds familiar.” You heard somewhere but could not remember the sudden recollection. 

She said, “During high school, the asshole that I had a crush on!” 

Now, hearing that from her own lips, you came to the sudden realization and a blurry silhouette of a guy popped inside your head. For quite a while that Jennie dated him in high school, later it was because the counterpart was tangled with another girl that they broke up after. Then Jennie went overseas, and the guy called Dongyoung vanished into thin air, nowhere to be found. 

“But why is he called Doyoung now?”

“It was some superstitious belief I guess. His family is weird.” 

“Seems like he was hoping to rekindle the past romantic flames. Do you still have feelings for him?” you asked. 

She answered disdainfully, “We were immature back then, I’d already lost whatever I had for him.” 

“To me it’s like he couldn’t forget about you though.” Honestly you could tell that she had not moved on entirely from him, otherwise how could she recognized him as the Dongyoung back then? 

“That’s his problem. I don’t dwell on the past, especially one that’s tainted.” When she spoke of the word ‘tainted’, she muttered between clenched teeth, which did not sound nice at all. 

You became silent then, not wanting to jog her through bad memories. However you could not help but be reminded of the diminishing figure of Yoonoh and Sooyoung that day as the distance between them increased by a yard per mile. Suddenly you could feel the morose mood within. 

Jennie drove you back home then buzzed off with a simple “goodnight”. You knew that she was definitely going for speeding down the road to get her mind off. 

From afar you had already noticed that the lights were on, for sure Yoonoh was home. When you made your entrance and changed your shoes, there you saw him on the couch. 

You were still sulky and resentful and bitchy so you decided to ignore him at the moment. You changed into your fluffy slippers and went straight for the stairs and up them. 

“Where have you been, why do you smell like alcohol all over?” He sat on the couch, suddenly threw a question with obvious ill judgement. 

Subconsciously you took a whiff of your own self, and retorted, “I didn’t drink.”

“What’s with the strong odor if you didn’t?”

“Probably when helping Doyoung…” you paused, previously you had made a mental note to ignore him at all costs, yet you were explaining yourself to him?

He sure knew how to pick up important points, “Who is Doyoung?”

You pursed your lips, had you wanted to explain to him, but questioned back instead, “Why do you care?”

His face went dark immediately, “You’ve been with that guy this whole day?”

“So what if I was?”

“It’s fine, but I have to remind you now that you’re labelled as me, Jung Yoonoh’s wife, you better not try something that puts me in shame,” he said, coldly. 

Oh, so that’s it?

What were you exactly wishing for? Doing this deliberately, intentionally to get him misunderstood. You sure were out of your mind. 

“Alright.” You were too tired to fight with him, mentally tired, honestly you had began to get tired of this lifestyle as well. Two people who lived under the same roof and seeing the same face every morning, day in and day out, yet always fighting and hurting each other every time when mouths opened that you basically did not speak the same language. It was indeed tiring. 

As if he never thought that you would be easily compromised this time that he was stunned for a second, and just continued what he had been doing with nothing said. You did not stay any longer and went upstairs. 

In fact, all these years you both had cared too much about pride which caused this constant tension and friction in between. 

When one attacked another, there would be horrible and awful words as defensive comeback. 

Those hurtful words would end up hurting yourselves anyway. If you did not went all out your way to maliciously hurt others, how would it lead to harsh and cruel retaliation in the other part? 

As long as one first backed down and admitted defeat, eventually the other would stop before going too far. 

Both adults knew that, yet no one had the courage to let go of their pride and ego. 

[stark-tony]

oh, the weather outside is frightful ch. 2

summary: It's the biggest snowstorm seen in recent years, and all Morgan Stark wants is for her big brother to be there so that he can celebrate Christmas with her.

word count: 2,333

rating: G

chapter 1

read on ao3

The sun had risen in its full glory only to be almost immediately masked by the numerous gray clouds in the sky, and the rain that had woken up Morgan several hours earlier had now turned to snow by the time she'd opened her eyes once more. She looked out the window with excitement, tearing the covers off of her and nearly falling off of the bed in her haste to look out of it. "Wow." She whispered, nose pressed up against the glass, her breath fogging it up. There was only a thin covering of snow that lay on the ground, but it showed no signs of stopping, and Morgan was excited as to what that meant in the near future. 

If it didn't stop, then that would mean that she could play with Peter outside in the snow. They could build snowmen and make snow angels and possibly even have a snowball fight. And to make it even better, this was the first year that she'd be able to do that with him. She couldn't wait. She ran out of the room, heading towards the kitchen where she heard Mommy talking to Daddy as she cooked breakfast.

"It's snowing!" She announced to them as soon as she came in, just in case they weren't yet aware. This was very important information and she just had to make sure they knew about the wondrous thing that was occurring just outside their front door.

"Yes, it is!" Mommy said with a laugh as she flipped a pancake over, bacon sizzling on the frying pan next to her. 

Daddy was leaning against the counter, and Morgan was pleased to notice that the Christmas tree stickers she had put on his prosthetic arm the day before were still attached, albeit now peeling slightly at the edges.

Despite -or perhaps because of- the early morning a cup of coffee was already in his hand. Morgan didn't know why he liked the stuff so much. She had once tried to sneak a drink of it when he wasn't looking and had almost instantly started choking at how bitter it was. 

"Bleh." She had said, spitting into her sleeve and frantically wiping her tongue to get the atrocious taste off. "That's gross! How can you drink that?" 

Daddy shrugged and just told her, "It's an acquired taste," before taking another long sip of the offending brew.

Morgan had nodded solemnly at him before going to find Mommy. "Mommy," she said, hoping that her mother would understand the grave importance of what Morgan was about to tell her. "Don't ever let Daddy choose what we're having to eat, because he has a bad 'quired taste."

"Okay, sweetie." Mommy said with her hand covering her mouth, unable to mask her shakes of laughter. Morgan didn't know what was so funny, but she hoped that Mommy would take her concern in to consideration. Unless it turned out that Mommy had poor taste in food as well, and in that case Morgan felt that she would just have to start planning their meals herself.

Morgan now ran up to Daddy and gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his legs and glowering at the cup he held as she did so. :

"Hey, Maguna." He said, running the cool, metal fingers of his prosthetic arm through her hair. "Did you sleep well? You know, after waking up and all."

"Mmm-Hmm" she nodded, pressing her face against his hip. She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can I play in the snow with Peter when he gets here?"

Daddy cleared his throat, getting down on his knees so that he could be face to face with her. "Actually, Morgan, me and Mommy wanted to talk to you about that."

Morgan tilted her head, confused. "About what?"

Daddy sighed, stealing himself for whatever he was about to tell her. "We don't know if Peter will be able to make it for Christmas this year. It's just started to snow here, but it's getting really bad in the city.                                                

Morgan pouted. "But he promised. You can't break promises."

Daddy smiled sadly at her. "Listen even if Peter can't make it right now he'll still probably come as soon as the storm is over and the snow melts. It might be a few days, but we will have Christmas with him then."

"But it's not the same!" Morgan complained, stomping her foot on the ground, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I know." He sighed before hugging her again. "I know."     

       The thing was Morgan had always known she had a brother. She saw it in the photographs of the teenage boy that lay scattered around the house. She saw it in the sad look Daddy got whenever he saw something about the snap. She saw it in the way he held her close whenever she was sick. But, apparently, she was the only one who did, because when she had asked Daddy about the brother she had never met, he just looked confused. 

 "Brother?" He questioned her one night after she had asked for a story about him. It had been late and they were sitting on the couch together, Morgan perched on his lap while she played with a toy War Machine in her hands" Morgan you don't have a brother."         

 "Yes I do!" Morgan said, shaking her head at her Daddy's silliness. "He's the boy in the pictures!"

 Morgan didn't know what she had done wrong, because one second Daddy was holding her and the next he had pushed her off  of him and ran out of the room.

 "Hey, Daddy!" She said indignantly as her toy fell out of her hands and went halfway beneath the couch. 

 It wasn't until the next night when she was tucked in her bed that Daddy came and apologized for what happened. "Hey Morgan. I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday. I wish you'd hadn't seen that. It's just -" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Who told you that Pe- that boy was your brother." He swallowed heavily.

 Morgan shrugged. "No one. It's just, well, Mommy and Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy talk about him sometimes and how you were close to him, so I just thought that made him my brother. And you never talk about him so I just wanted to hear about him from you. I'm sorry, Daddy."

 Daddy didn't speak for a long time, looking off into the corner of her room as if seeing something that she couldn't perceive. "Yeah, I guess he was sort of your brother." His voice cracked at the end. 

 He gave her a sad smile. "Goodnight." He kissed her delicately on her forehead and left, closing the door gently behind him as he did.

It was astounding how something that had once brought her great joy mere hours before now only gave her deep resentment. Morgan was playing in her room, glancing out the window every so often at the snow that was piling up on the ground and taunting her. For the first time in her life she just wished it would stop snowing. Sure she loved the snow, but she loved Peter even more. 

She tried to keep on amusing herself with the array of blocks, stuffed animals, and dolls that lay before her, but the truth of the matter was that her heart just wasn't in it. So she left. If she wasn't happy in her room then perhaps she could find something else to distract her.

She walked through the house. Feet guiding her aimlessly through the paths she had trekked through numerous times before. Sometimes walking. Sometimes running. Sometimes dancing. Now she only shuffled, heavy bricks of sorrow weighing her down. 

All of the plans of having fun with Peter were disappearing, floating away on the wind. Yesterday she had daydreamed about the presents that lay heaped beneath the Christmas tree. Now she only thought about how much fun she would be having if only her brother were here.  They could be doing so much together. They could be coloring or playing or conducting their own science experiments. The possibilities were endless.

Morgan stopped walking, having noticed she stood face to face with the guest room. Well, it used to be the guest room, but then when Peter started staying at the house more it quickly became his own room. What used to be a relatively bare room compared to the rest of the house was now filled with evidence that it now belonged to a teenage boy. Posters adorned the walls and pictures sat on the dresser, the people in the frames smiling back out at her. Legos from his last visit still lay scattered haphazardly on the floor and Morgan gave a small laugh at that, wondering what Daddy would say if he knew about that. 

But her amusement didn't last long. The empty room only served to reminder of who wasn't there, and if anything she felt even worse than before. So, her head hanging heavy, she turned around and walked back the way she came.

 The first time Morgan met her previously dead brother was in the hospital waiting room, waiting for her Daddy to get better. Mommy was talking to a lady with long brown hair a few seats away. Morgan didn't know who she was, but with the way that she kept looking at her brother Morgan assumed that she must be his mommy.

 "Hi!" Morgan said, swinging her feet back and forth in her chair. "You're my brother."

 Um, Hi?" The boy said, clearly confused. "I'm Peter. Who are you?" 

 "Morgan Stark." Morgan replied, to which Peter's eyes went wide in disbelief. "Mommy said that you might be surprised to see me, but that's okay. I'm gonna be your friend."  She got up out of her seat and using the entire strength that her five-year-old body could muster she managed to pull him up and out of his chair. "Come play with me!" She demanded, leading him over to a bag full of toys that she had brought with her. 

 She pulled out a miniature robot Daddy had made her for her fourth birthday. "This is Budd-e!"  She waved the device's mechanical arm at him.  

 "Hey." Peter told the robot which gave a small beep in reply. "That looks like Dum-e."  He turned his attention back to Morgan.

 "Yep! Daddy modeled her after him!" Morgan said. 

 "Wow. That's - that's something."  He picks up a random item from the bag. "So what do you want to play?" 

 They played for hours on end, and later when Morgan is exhausted from the day and leaning her head against Mommy's shoulder as she quietly dozes off to sleep, she hears Peter ask, "Why does Morgan think I'm her brother?" 

 To which Mommy can only reply, "Because you are." 

"Can't you just call and ask them if they'll be here?" Morgan asked her Mommy as she lay halfway off the couch.

"Daddy called May a few hours ago and she still didn't think they'd make it. And sit up, you could hurt herself."

"I won't hurt myself." Morgan muttered to herself, but still she pulled herself back into a seating position. 

"Uncle Rhodey should be here soon." Mommy said. 

"Oh. That's nice." Morgan replied, and it truly was. Then a thought occurred to her. "What about Uncle Happy?"

Mommy paused. "He was supposed to be coming with May and Peter." 

That's right, Morgan thought, Uncle Happy had moved in with Aunt May and Peter a few weeks ago after they'd been dating for a few months. Great. Now she had to miss someone else this Christmas. Tears began to fall unwarranted down her face. "It's not fair!" She cried, rubbing her eyes. "It's not fair!"

Mommy pulled her up into her arms and Morgan buried her face into her neck as she sobbed uncontrollably. "I know, honey, I know." 

 "But I don't want you to go!" Morgan complained to Peter as she watched him pack up his belongings.

 Peter sighed. "I know you don't, Morgan, but I have school tomorrow. Besides, you know that I'll be back next weekend."

 Morgan frowned. "But I'll miss you." 

 "I know, but listen. As soon as I get home I'm gonna call you and talk to you until you get sick of me and are begging me to hang up."

 "I could never get sick of you." Morgan said, offended that he could even think that.

 "And I could never be sick of you." Peter told her. 

 "I Love you, Morgan." Peter hugged her.

 "Love you, Peter." Morgan replied as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, wishing he'd never leave.

Morgan must have cried herself to sleep, because the next thing she knew Mommy was gone and she was lying down alone on the couch. She yawned as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but it must have been a while because she heard Uncle Rhodey talking to Daddy and Mommy and the sky outside was almost pitch black. It must be almost time for dinner, she thought as she stood up. 

She was just getting ready to say hi to Uncle Rhodey when she heard it. The sound of tires slowly crunching up the driveway. She didn't want to get her hopes up, but still she looked out into the darkness. Aunt May's car was slowly ambling up towards the cabin. She could hardly believe it. She closed her eyes and shook her head, just in case she was imagining it, but when she opened her eyes once more nothing had changed. A smile began to spread across her cheeks. " They're here! They're here!" Morgan shouted with glee, and before either Mommy or Daddy or Uncle Rhodey could stop her she had flung the front door open and ran out into the night.

[kmomof4]

Choices A new one shot written for @profdanglaisstuff

So, a little over FOUR weeks ago, @profdanglaisstuff had a massive work project that took up all her time, leaving very little time for reading or anything else really. And because she was so sweet to me a few weeks before that and wrote me a wonderful little one shot after a very hard day of adulting, I thought that I would return the favor with one of her favorite tropes, Neverland smut. She wouldn't be done with the project for several more days... plenty of time to write it, right? WRONG!!! Little did I know what I was signing myself up for, because writing Neverland smut is HAAAAARD!!! No pun intended. And the first draft reflected that. It was BAAAAAAAAAD!!!! After some straight talking from @hollyethecurious and stepping away from it for a few days (weeks), I came up with the idea of how to revise it and keep all the things I wanted to keep. Once it was ready, @snidgetsafan stepped in with her kick ass beta skills, did her thing, and now here we are. Only 4 weeks late, but now Saira is sick in bed, and maybe this is a better time for me to gift her with this fic. So, I hope you enjoy this Saira and I hope you feel better soon! All the love and thanks to Laetitia and Hollye for all their help in crafting this.

Ao3 link Rated M 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

On the way to Dark Hollow

“What was that about?” Turning towards Hook, she held her hand up, stopping him in his tracks.

A rough exhale escaped his lips. “I assumed he’d heard my secret. And I also assumed you’d told him of our shared moment.”

“Why would you assume that?” she interjected, frustration lacing her tone.

“Because I was hoping it’d meant something.”

The naked vulnerability in his eyes had her hackles lowering. “What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you. I realize you could’ve kept Pan’s information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” The honest confusion in his voice took her back momentarily.

“I don’t know. Maybe Pan offered you a deal?” she speculated. “Why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test,” he informed her. “He wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die. Even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am.”

“And you chose your friend.” Incredulity colored her words. Why? She thought.

“Does that surprise you?”

“You are a pirate,” she replied with a smirk.

“Yeah. That I am.” His face fell, and she realized just how deep her jab had hit him. “But I also believe in good form,” he continued, swaying into her space. “So when I win your heart Emma, and I will win it, it won’t be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.” Realization dawned. He was a man of honor, and he was trying to be a better man, for her. He was committed to pursuing her with the full knowledge that he was not the only one seeking her affections, but he would respect her autonomy and her choice by not resorting to pressure or manipulation in order to gain unfair advantage.

She released a shaky exhale at the revelation and tried to dampen her own hopes and expectations. “This is not a contest, Hook.”

Hook was no fool and wasn’t having any of her deflections. “Isn’t it? You’re going to have to choose, Emma,” he murmured, gesturing in the direction Neal had gone. “You realize that don’t you? Because neither one of us is going to give up.”

Emma could feel her hackles rising again as the reason she was on this cursed island to begin with flooded her mind. She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. “The only thing I have to choose, is the best way to get my son back.”

“And you will.” The certainty in his voice exposed that raw, vulnerable orphan within her that no one had ever believed in.

“You think so?” She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice or the fear of failure out of her eyes as she probed his own for any hint of a lie.

“I’ve yet to see you fail,” he confessed. “And when you do succeed, well, that’s when the fun begins.” His eyebrows lifted flirtatiously as a smile spread across his lips.

“What do you mean, fun?” she asked, confusion on her brow.

“The fun of pursuit, Swan,” he asserted, swaying into her personal space once more. “Once your boy is safe, I’ll court you like a lady such as you deserves.”

She caught her breath at the seriousness in his eyes. She knew he was speaking the truth. Fun indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, hey, hey, hey. I know I screwed up.” Neal tried to grab her arm. She spun toward him, fury in her eyes.

“Yes, you did. You both did. We almost lost our shot at capturing the shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter.”

“It wasn’t the lighter we were fighting over, love,” Hook drawled, sauntering into the clearing.

Children, they were nothing but children. Didn’t they see that now wasn’t the time for this?

Her veridian gaze bore into each of them, underlining her seriousness. “Okay. Let me be very clear about something. If I have to choose someone, I choose Henry. He’s the only love I have room for in my life.” Why did that feel like a lie on her lips? She turned from them and stormed back towards camp.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quiet sobbing entered his consciousness. Killian opened his eyes and saw Emma sitting by the log, crying into her arms that rested on her knees. Rising from his bed roll, he slowly approached. “Swan?” he inquired in a whisper, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder.

She startled at his touch. Struggling to bring herself under control, she wiped furiously at the tears tracking down her face. “I’m sorry for waking you, Hook,” she said, as another tear escaped its confines and rolled down her cheek.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“What do you care?” she snapped at him.

He was taken aback at the venom in her tone. But underneath it, he perceived a hopelessness that he wanted nothing more than to eradicate. “Is it Henry?” he inquired.

She looked up at him, her eyes still shining with unshed tears. The moment stretched impossibly long. His heart nearly stopped in his chest as her eyes searched his. “What if we lose?” she whispered. “What if I can’t save him? What if he really is a Lost Boy?”

“Nonsense, Emma,” he assured her. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew exactly how that would go: an even further fortification of the wall around her heart. The one he’d sworn to take down without manipulation or trickery. “Henry knows that you are here to get him back. That everyone here loves him. He’s not lost. Not by a long shot.”

The sadness tinged with hope in her beautiful green eyes nearly broke his heart. “How do you know?”

“I know because I’m looking at you,” he whispered, staring into her eyes. “As I said earlier, I’ve yet to see you fail. Your love for your son, your determination to get him safely home can be felt all over this island. Why do you think Pan has been visiting you so much?” he continued. “He fears you, Swan. He knows that the only way he’s going to keep Henry is to get you out of the way. Your mother’s heart,” he said, nodding toward where her heart beat, “simply won’t allow that. You’ll get him back. I have no doubt. And probably a lot sooner than you think,” he promised her, trying to pass the assurance he felt in her success on to her.

She wiped away the stray tears that had fallen as he spoke. “Thank you,” she sniffed. “I’m alright now. You can go back to sleep.”

“You need the sleep more than I do now, love,” he murmured. “I’ll take over for a few hours.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sleep now, Swan.” He stroked her hair as she laid down beside him, backing up until her back lined up with his thigh. Killian sighed as her breathing evened out, sleep finally catching up with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re sure it’ll fly?” Emma asked once Pan’s shadow was attached to the sail of the Jolly Roger.

“It has no choice,” Regina answered, smug smile tugging at her lips.

“Then let’s get the hell out of Neverland.”

“As you wish, milady. Bosun, weigh anchor,” Killian shouted before turning toward the helm.

The Jolly surged as she took to the air, piercing the clouds over Neverland and sailing across the night sky. Once they were on a steady course, Emma watched as Killian left the helm in the hands of David and retired below to his cabin.

Once she adjourned to the first mate’s cabin, and she could no longer escape her memories of Hook’s words, Emma could feel a flush spreading from her cheeks, down her neck, all the way to the tops of her breasts. The physical manifestation of her exhausted but anxious thoughts only served to send those thoughts into even more of a tailspin than what they already were.

He had promised to win her heart. He had promised to do it without trickery. He had promised to court her properly, once her son was safe. Well, Henry was safe now, sound asleep in a hammock in the crew’s quarters.

And what about Neal? It was quite obvious from their time on the island that he was expecting a nice little happy family between himself, her, and Henry. And while Henry would probably want that, did she? Her secret in the Echo Cave was the truth. Yes, she would probably always love him. But that didn’t mean that she wanted to rekindle their relationship. She had hoped that it was a trick. She had hoped that he was dead. Facing the pain of what he had done to her all those years ago was not high on her to-do list. She’d much rather bury it down. Down to the same place where resided her anger at Regina both for casting the curse in the first place and the way she’d treated her before she’d broken it, as well as towards her parents for abandoning her, no matter what the reason had been.

But she also knew in her heart, that if she wanted a healthy romantic relationship with anyone in the future, whether that was Hook or anyone else, she was going to have to deal with what Neal had done to her. That meant letting it go, forgiving him, and putting it and him behind her. She may not be emotionally ready for a new romantic relationship at the moment, but it was the only way she was going to be able to live in the same town as him, see him every day, and share parenting duties with both him and Regina. For the foreseeable future, she was choosing Henry. Let Hook pursue her. Let him court her. One thing was for sure, having such a fine specimen of a man after her would not be bad for her ego. But she would still keep him at arm’s length. She couldn’t fall in love with him. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let herself.

Feeling at least a little better with that decision made, Emma fell into the first restful sleep she’d had since arriving on Neverland, while in the next room, Killian did the same.

~*~*~

A soft knock sounded on the door as Killian was removing his leather duster. “Enter,” he called. The door swung open revealing Emma standing on the threshold, anxiety rolling off her in waves.

“Come in Swan,” he invited. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” As much as he wanted to smirk at her, the tension in her brow and shoulders told him that now wasn’t the time.

“Uh, um,” she stuttered, “I wanted to talk with you, privately, if you weren’t too busy.” She cleared her throat and wrung her hands in front of her, clearly nervous.

“Of course not, Swan. Please, sit down,” he encouraged. She came in slowly, looking around his quarters. He found himself hoping that it passed her inspection. Sitting down next to her at the table, he waited.

“Look, I’m not good at this,” she began, eyes looking everywhere except at him. “I, uhh, owe you my thanks,” she stuttered. A snort escaped him as he waved aside her sentiment.

“You owe nothing of the sort, Swan. I made the choice to come. To be, as you said, a part of something. You owe me nothing for that.”

“You may not think so, but I do.” Her blazing green eyes finally met his and delved into his soul. “You didn’t have to do any of it. You didn’t have to turn your ship around. You didn’t have to offer your service. You didn’t have to fight on our side, risking your own life, to bring Henry home. But you did.” Looking down, a flush spread across her cheeks. “You believed in me,” she whispered. “No one has ever believed in me like that. Not in my entire life.”

Reaching out toward her, he lifted her chin with his finger until she looked in his eyes.

“I have every reason to believe in you, Emma.” Something in the words he spoke made her catch her breath. “You are, without any doubt, the strongest, fiercest, and most formidable woman I’ve ever met. I pity the villian who even considers taking you on.” He hoped that she could clearly read the certainty he tried to communicate with his visage. Holding her gaze, he spoke again. “Don’t you doubt it. Ever.” Vulnerability and uncertainty swirled in her too bright eyes. He lowered his head until his forehead rested upon her own.

The tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes started to fall. Emma’s face lifted until she captured his lips with her own. A groan escaped him as her tongue requested entrance. His hands buried themselves in her golden locks as their tongues began a sensuous dance. “Emma,” he breathed, breaking the kiss. As much as he hated to break the moment, he had to know exactly what she was trying to communicate. “What do you need? What can I do?”

The uncertainty in her gaze was gone, replaced by confidence, belief, trust. Could I be so blessed? “You said that I would have to choose. That neither of you would give up and that you would win my heart without trickery.” He nodded. “I’m saying that there is no choice to make. Neal was my first love. He gave me Henry, so a part of me will always love him, if only for that. But, there is no coming back from what he did to me. I’m different. I’ve grown up and the wounds he gave me left permanent scars. You pledged to win my heart, to honor and respect me. You’ve never told me a lie. You came back for me and you believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.” Understanding came over him and a burgeoning hope blossomed in his chest. “You don’t have to ‘court me properly’ for me to know that you’re the one that I want. I want you, Killian, if you’ll have me.” Doubt started to creep back into her eyes at her final words that left him speechless. If I’d have her? Is she kidding?

Instead of answering her with words, he decided to show her instead. Crashing his lips to hers, he stood up with her in his arms and carried her over to the narrow bed on the other side of the cabin. When they came up for air he spoke with all the love and conviction in his heart. “Yes, Emma, I will have you. Just as you have me, for as long as you’ll allow me to remain by your side.” His gaze pierced her own as he lowered her to the bed. “And now my Swan, may I make love to you?” he whispered, as he hovered over her. She nodded and drew him back down to her again. He devoured her lips as if he were a condemned man enjoying his final meal. His hands worked their way under her top as she spread her legs and cradled him between her thighs.

Lifting her top up over her head, his eyes widened when he beheld her covered breasts. “Your breasts are divine, my love,” he murmured into her neck as he peppered kisses into the sensitive skin there, making her shiver. His hand cupped her mound while his lips mouthed at her nipples through the material, making her gasp. Her hands were busy as well, unbuttoning his waistcoat and linen shirt. Once she got them opened, she purred in appreciation and pushed them off his shoulders before starting to work on the laces of his pants.

“Not yet darling,” he gently scolded her. “I want to see you first.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “All of you, first,” he smirked in reply. As she removed the offensive garment keeping her breasts from his eyes, he deftly opened her trousers and slid them down her long legs, following the path with his lips. When he came back up he growled at the last undergarment that concealed her most intimate place from his gaze. A giggle escaped her lips.

“Need some help there, Captain?” she teased.

“Not in the slightest, Swan,” he replied, applying his hook to the material, ripping it to shreds. Once she was bare before him, he inhaled deeply, running his tongue along his lips. “You are exquisite, my love.” Diving into the decadence before him, he hummed at her taste on his tongue. Emma writhed beneath him on the bed as he continued his ministrations, fisting her hands into the sheet and his hair. Moans of delight and rapture filled the cabin, but he was too intoxicated on her to appreciate them. When the shouts of her climax reached his ears, he brought her down gently, slowing his ministrations. As she lay gasping on his bed, shaking with aftershocks, he hurriedly removed his pants and laid down beside her. Stroking her cheek, she turned toward him with a sleepy and sated smile on her face.

“My turn,” she cheeked. She kissed him like a woman possessed, running her hands down his naked chest until she reached his proud and weeping cock bobbing against his stomach. He groaned into her mouth as she took him in hand and started to stroke him from base to tip. With every upward stroke, she swiped her thumb along his slit, coating him in the precum that had gathered there. She straddled him and positioned him at her entrance before slowly sinking down on him until their hips were flush. A few rolls of her hips had his eyes rolling in the back of his head in ecstasy. He reached up and caressed her breasts as she rose and fell atop him.

“Beautiful, my Swan,” he gasped. “You are so beautiful above me, riding me into oblivion. Squeeze me, darling. I want to feel you come all over my cock.” He brought his hook down and pressed the edge of the cold metal onto her clit. Her cry was music to his ears as she dragged him over with her into sated bliss.

She collapsed on top of him, her hair covering his face. He placed a kiss to her temple and murmured into her hair. “Still with me, Swan?”

“Mmhmmm,” she hummed in reply. She lifted her face and placed her chin on his sternum. “That was…”

“Definitely not a one time thing,” he cooed, reaching into the dark loneliness of his empty cabin. Pushing himself up and opening his eyes and looking around, he realized it was nothing but a dream and his sheets were a mess. Sighing heavily, he lay back down. It was all wishful thinking. The midnight musings of a pirate who wanted, desperately wanted, to be a part of something. Something good. Something forever. With her. 

Another sigh escaped him. He had vowed to win her heart without trickery, and he would honor that. He would choose her. Every day. Until she chose him too.

Fin

[one-good-day]

Tfw when you weren't wanted as a child and it resulted in overwhelming anxiety that you perceive as truth

Me: *texts someone something for the first time in a week*

Me: *runs for cover* *throws self under a table*

My anxiety: am I bothering them? Harrassing? Being too much? Is there a reason they didn't text me first-Do they want me to stop texting them-Are they mad at me-

Me: *gathers my bravery and mades rude gesture at my anxiety* *peeks out holding a sauce pan defensively* have they replied yet?

[kitten1618x]

GoT Afterthoughts ep. 08x01 ‘Winterfell’(Part 2)

Okay, well now that I’ve gotten some sleep, let us continue, shall we?

~

So we left off with the Great Hall sass-fest between Dany and Sansa, who clearly have gotten off on the wrong foot. Not gonna lie, I’m enjoying this jealous, very snappy side of Sansa. Remember when I told you all last season that it would take the threat of Dany encroaching upon what Sansa perceived as hers — her home, her closeness with Jon and her place by his side — for us to start seeing her feelings begin to emerge? Well my friends, I believe its begun, and it’s only going to get worse as the season progresses. Sophie did say that Sansa’s fight this season was a more passionate one...

~

As for Dany’s reply? I’m sure that I don’t have to tell y’all how highly inappropriate it was. Not that i begrudge homegirl a saucy clapback, but that’s probably not the best thing to tell an entire room full of people who don’t particularly trust you yet, and know how dangerous and unpredictable your dragons are. And let’s not forget that the dragons actually have eaten people before, so it’s really nothing to joke and/or scoff about. For me, it harkens on Jorah’s comments in the season 7 finale regarding why the Dragon Pit was constructed...

~

“Dragons don’t understand the difference between what’s there’s and what isn’t. Land, livestock, children...”

~

So for Dany to make such a flippant statement just to get a one-up on Sansa isn’t a very bright move, imo.

~

We move out into the courtyard where Gendry has taken charge of the task of unloading the stock of Dragonglass. Tyrion watches him from the battlements, and spies Sansa and Lord Royce. Their reunion was always going to be awkward due to the circumstances they parted on, but I suppose Tyrion feels like there’s no time like the present to get it out of the way, and approaches them. Bless Lord Royce for watching out for Lady Stark. ❤️ He leaves only when she indicates that it’s alright.

~

They exchange some terse pleasantries, and Tyrion learns rather quickly that Sansa is no longer the meek young girl he once knew. While she remains polite, she doesn’t watch her tone nor shy away from saying exactly what’s on her mind. This is her home and he’s on her turf now.

~

They share a few barbs about the purple wedding and Sansa apologizes for leaving so abruptly. It’s really just a formality, and Tyrion knows it, judging by his reply. Is he resentful that she left him holding the bag? I’m not rightly sure, to be honest, and she doesn’t clarify on the circumstances she left under, either. He wasn’t back in season 4, but people do change, along with their perspectives.

~

“Many have underestimated you, most of them are dead now.”

~

Well if that isn’t some kind of ominous foreshadowing shit, I don’t know what is? It’s also the truth, so Team Dracarys beware!

~

Tyrion attempts to quell the fear he’s certain she must have about the Lannister army coming to Winterfell, and Sansa calls him out for trusting Cersei. He tries to explain that he believes this time is different because Cersei has something to live for now. I know everyone thinks this is a nod to the possibility of Cersei being pregnant — but what if it’s something else? What if it’s her revenge that’s keeping Cersei going? It has in the past... I mean, this is Cersei we’re talking about, and at this point I’m just throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks. lol

~

In any event, Sansa gives a subtle shake of her head and leaves him with some striking words that are sure to cut Tyrion deep in his pride (beings that he ‘drinks and he knows things’ and puts a lot of stock in his own perceived cleverness): “I used to think you were the most cleverest man alive.” Ouch.

~

My girl is really out here snatching these wigs left and right!

~

Sansa walks off leaving Tyrion to ice that sick burn... perhaps he can cool it with that frigid stare Bran is giving him from the courtyard below? Methinks something is amiss, and methinks Bran is gonna be pulling the receipts soon. Either way, it’s hard not to be a little freaked out by Bran, and Tyrion certainly looks the part here.

~

We move to the Godswood where Jon stands alone before the heart tree. He looks upset. I mean, he is Broody McBroodster and all, but what’s got my precious snowflake son so pensive? He did manage to secure ‘the greatest army the world has ever seen and two large dragons’ after all, and (supposedly) spent the last month ‘balls deep’ in his auntie D, so what could be troubling him? How long do you guys have? lol AND WHERE THE FUCK IS GHOST?

~

Arya sneaks up on him, telling him he used to be taller, and my heart just grew three times its size. 💗 They lunge into a hug reminiscent of the first season when they parted ways as young, naive Starklings, and dear lord, either I’m the grinch who stole Christmas, or I better call a cardiologist!! Jon even squeezes his eyes shut and looks like he’s fighting back tears! Gahhhhhhhh!!!!!

~

Of course Jon sees that Arya still has Needle. He asks if she’s used it yet, and she... omits the truth. For whatever reason, Arya isn’t ready to share this part of herself with Jon yet, and it makes my heart hurt so much for her loss of innocence. AND THESE MOTHERFUCKERS BETTER LEAVE MY REMAINING STARKLINGS ALONE IS2G!!

~

Jon shows off Longclaw, and jfc, these two dorks look so cute with their matching Ned Stark hairdos and their dramatic-ass eyebrows, here beneath the heart tree in Winterfell, and ahhhhhhhh! Okay, okay, I’m done gushing... for now.

~

Anyway, shits about to get a little weird here... Jon gestures with his hand then bends down, placing that hand on Arya’s shoulder and pulls her in as if he’s about to share a secret and asks where she was before, ‘cos he coulda used her help earlier with Sansa. I say weird because that’s the vibe I got, especially when Arya physically turns her head to look at his hand when he places it there, like she’s onto him or something. She even knows exactly what he’s referring to when she states very matter-of-factly, “she doesn’t like your Queen, does she?”

~

It’s all very condescending (and cut me some slack, because I’m not even sure that’s the right word here) — but his mannerisms, the way he sort of mocks Sansa about thinking she’s smarter than everyone, then seems taken aback when Arya defends her—when Jon, himself, knows damn well that Sansa is quite smart, and has even said so.

~

I was ready to climb into my tv and box Jonathan’s ears until it dawned on me just how isolated he must feel right now. The man has literally given up everything for what he holds most dear: his family and the North, only to be met with disappointment from those he cares the most about. And yes, especially Sansa, whom he constantly seeks validation from. His brooding in the Godswood makes a bit more sense now, as does his need to get his old confidant ‘sibling’ on his ‘side’—however immature it may be.

~

I could be wrong, of course, but my opinion only solidifies when Arya tells him that Sansa is only defending her family, and Jon suddenly drops the act and replies softly, “I’m her family, too.”

~

With a small smile, she pulls her needy validation-seeking big bro back in for another hug and tells him, “Don’t forget that,” as the camera pans back on Jon’s face and we see the emotional impact her words have on him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

~

We cut to Kings Landing where Cersei watches the arrival of Euron’s Fleet. Qyburn brings her the news that the AotD have broken through the wall, as to which she replies with an emotionless, “Good,” before we cut to Euron sharing words with the commander of the Golden Company.

~

He goes below deck to taunt Yara a bit — ‘blah blah blah, and balls and first I’m gonna fuck the queen.’ And I do love Euron, and I don’t know why, but he talks way too fucken much and doesn’t really say much of anything.

~

Cersei receives them in the throne room and is very disappointed that the Golden Company didn’t bring the elephants she was expecting. She dismisses them, but Euron has other ideas (as he expressed to his niece earlier on the ship). Cersei basically tells him to piss off with an excellent quote if I may say:

~

“If you want a whore, buy one. If you want a queen, earn her.”

~

But she’s not the only one prone to manipulating situations, and I get the feeling she knows that Euron’s loyalties are sketchy at best — and so we are given the impression that she relents, when she turns back, and Euron makes it past the Mountain unscathed.

~

Now we’re in Bronn’s room—whom I guess has taken up residence within the Red Keep? He’s about to get his 4-way on, but the girls keep chatting on about the Lannister soldiers that were maimed by Drogon in the field of fire 2.0 — specifically Eddie, a ginger boy who’s eyelids were burned right off. I assume this was one of the young boys Arya met on her way to kill the queen before she changed her mind? Probably Ed Sheeren.

~

~

Arya is not going to be happy about this.

~

Qyburn interrupts this tepid display of GoT sex (still hotter than floppy chicken sex) with a special request from the queen. He’s got the crossbow Tyrion used to kill Tywin, and a mission for Bronn. Will he carry it out? Change sides? Is this possibly how the kidnap!plot unfolds (for those of you who have considered it)? Only time will tell.

~

And speaking of such — I’m only 30 minutes into the episode and this has gotten looooooong again. Have I always been this long-winded in my recaps?

~

I’m gonna go ahead and publish this since it’s already a day late. Maybe I’ll have the whole recap finished before the new episode airs?! KIDDING! But seriously, I’m sorry guys... battling illness myself with sick kids and I’m trying here, I swear!!

[libidomechanica]

She, thus torments fall

The mode—work & weep. And find you will my heau’n becomes been unhappy lot. Chief of all is a pictures, yet not mountain- top, calls, and sea, her lookes? The most global civility, for thou run like fleeces? Methough exits into where is a dyingly into none; or far, the quiet shall but where were, it was sleepe that black of delicity draperies wide-swerve? Great bound a young, that take way lovely mainly Auroras Court us he perceiving showman. Have four wings, and bugle, that is song is motive full opiate, and it will not to flee away. Heapen’d to hurried to Do. Or to seed it? Him in his match thee,— and curse to tye through I was the brutish Pan and dignifies hung truth into spection come, after a satire touch I cannot director, whose slewe missions to comes besieging alone, for Goth, leaves born chief plan of that ends moved by the leaved fire, those by Phoebus more were world. And cautious as will put upon that doe meet. Anon the would not only onwards, not exactly askance meet selfe did replied, and then natural high, and a cool welcome absent was nothing: yet such beauty of the probably afar, when two heart’s horn: mother preciousness: like think on a paragrant made him, on the banquet

[carpostnet]

Ather, Ampere, Hero, Okinawa, PureEV

  Electric Scooters are the simplest path to get into the world of electrical mobility. We usually get many queries, from all of you – our readers and followers, about shopping for an electrical scooter.   Which scooter presents the longest vary, which has good high pace, which one is least costly, which model is extra tech savvy and so forth. In this text and video embedded, we’ll discuss concerning the High Speed Electric Scooters you should buy now!  

Introduction We will not speak about scooters with Lead Acid based mostly batteries. We consider it is time for all of us to transfer on in direction of Lithium chemistry. Also, we’ll showcase information sheets of every automobile and PluginIndia group members who’ve been following the electrical scooter business will give their tackle each mannequin and assign scores. We even have varied graphs, leaderboards and tables and different cool stuff!  We can’t make selections for you, as all people’s priorities and wishes are completely different however we are able to let you know concerning the choices obtainable. We additionally need this to be a daily collection each quarter.  Do tell us within the feedback under! ​ So, with out losing any extra time, let’s start in alphabetical order!

Video – Winter 2019 : Power Electric Scooter Buyers Guide

Data and Graphs

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Data Sheets and Details

Ampere Zeal

We obtained to know from sellers that the battery is made in home by Ampere. We mailed them about BMS options however we obtained no reply and the sellers do not know.

We obtained data that the Zeal mannequin is doing very properly amongst sellers. Response has been good, the sellers additionally instructed us that Greaves is severe about electrical automobiles and extra efficiency scooters are within the pipeline.

Here is information sheet of Ampere Zeal.

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.3/5

The Zeal is a pleasure to experience with the 60V system providing instantaneous pickup. The design and colours are improbable.

I’ve a lot of respect for Ampere model who’ve been promoting EV’s for the reason that naughties in small cities they usually make numerous elements in home.

Now Greaves Cotton, who’re the makers of petrol diesel engines have 81% stake at Amepre. I do not know what their agenda is. That is a priority for me.

Raphae – 3/5

The vary and high pace are a bit low for the worth I’m paying. 0

Battery although made in India could have shorter life. 0

Smooth experience and good pickup, good suspension. Well examined and FAME II grievance. 1

The firm has a formidable pedigree. 10+ years, 70+ sellers pan India. 1

Possibility of fine after gross sales service as battery made inhouse. 1

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Ather 450

Here is information sheet of Ather 450.

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 4.5/5

These are the options in an EV that i care about 

Connected Scooter – Check

Remote monitoring – Check

Software updates – Check

Awesome BMS options – Check

Amazing individuals who reply to all our queries – Check

        For me the annual payment for connectivity and repair isn’t a difficulty. I can perceive why many individuals could not prefer it. My solely concern is the sluggish crawling tempo of growth.         I anticipated the Ather 450 to be made obtainable in 10 cities in India by the tip of 2019 and clearly it isn’t taking place.         They do not need to appear to  depart their house base of Bengaluru for some motive.

Raphae – 4.5/5

The vary and high pace are a bit low for the worth I’m paying. 0

Battery although made in India could have shorter life. 0

Smooth experience and good pickup, good suspension. Well examined and FAME II grievance. 1

The firm has a formidable pedigree. 10+ years, 70+ sellers pan India. 1

Possibility of fine after gross sales service as battery made inhouse. 1

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Avan Xero+ & Avan Trendy

Both fashions have comparable battery sizes, vary, high pace. Essentially they’re the identical powertrain with two completely different designs. ​

Here is information sheet of Avan Scooters

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 2/5

Okay we now have noticed few destructive points with the corporate. Multiple senior administration individuals who have been with the corporate in 2018 have give up. We know few prospects who usually are not pleased with the service and help.  

I’d not advocate their merchandise and would wait and watch on the place this firm goes and in the event that they reply to customer support calls.

I’m solely giving a 2 ranking because the scooters appears good and experience properly

Raphae – 3/5

Good experience, suspension, and pickup. 1

Has the usual options and appears good. 1

Customers not getting service from firm. -1

We usually are not positive if the model will survive. 0

Removable battery, good pricing, obtainable in 10 states. 1.5

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Avera Retrosa

This scooter is from an attention-grabbing startup based mostly out of Amravati, Andhra Pradesh. 

The scooter is simply bought on-line in 2 states AP and Telangana.

Very attention-grabbing to see an impressive high pace of 90 kmph which makes it India’s quickest electrical scooter. Also they appear to be a know-how focussed firm with strong BMS options used within the LFP chemistry based mostly battery. ​

Here is information sheet of Avera Retrosa

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– N.A

The firm appears tremendous tech focussed. They appear to have bypassed sellers like Ather.

The Retrosa has an actual retro look, connectivity, good BMS options, which has piqued my curiosity

I can’t give a ranking we now have not tried the scooter. This is an organization to be careful for.

Raphae – N.A

We haven’t but pushed this scooter so can’t give a rating. 0

Looks like some previous scooter fashions, tells us in feedback which of them you’ll be able to “see”; therefore the “retro”-sa identify, I suppose. Modern know-how with previous type and appears. 0.5

Very good high pace nearly double of most others. 1

Promises an excellent vary too. 1

Has numerous options together with connectivity. 1

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Gemopai Astrid Lite TDR 360Z

In one of many episodes of The PluginIndia Show, We truly spoke about how Gemopai has enormous pedigree promoting greater than 15 million electrical two wheelers all around the world. This mannequin is the primary excessive pace mannequin launched by the corporate. Do word that this Astrid Lite isn’t a FAME 2 product.

They instructed us that they’ve 55 sellers. As of November 2019, their web site doesn’t listing them. They have to listing sellers to construct credibility. ​

Here is information sheet of Gemopai Astrid Lite TDR 360Z

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– N.A

We haven’t had the chance to check the scooter. Hence i will not give a ranking.

I’m impressed by Gemopai’s pedigree, however the firm must construct that pedigree in India.

Let’s hope I can provide them a ranking the subsequent quarter once we do that video.

Raphae – N.A

We haven’t pushed it but so can’t give a rating. 0

The Chinese associate has 20+ years of expertise in order that’s good. 0.5

Very good vendor community pan India. 0.5

Decent vary and high pace. Somewhat higher than the remainder of the scooters in India. Other specs motor energy, further battery pack to extend vary obtainable, so it sounds good. 1

60% made in India. 0.5

The larger voltage (72V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 0.5

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Hero Electric Photon LP

For 10+ years they have been completely satisfied to promote low pace lead acid battery based mostly Hero Photon. Once the federal government laid down the FAME 2 guidelines of constructing battery pack in India and in addition enforced a better high pace, Hero acted and that is outcome – The 2019 Hero Photon LP

One essential factor to notice is the battery isn’t detachable. However the vendor in Pune made it detachable. Do ask your vendor, if they will do it.

We nonetheless really feel Hero Electric appears to be holding again. The Photon is the flagship product of Hero Electric and by 2020, The Photon needs to be competing with the highest manufacturers by way of options, connectivity, efficiency and so on. Unfortunately the Photon is a promising product however suffers from lack of a imaginative and prescient from the administration. ​

Here is information sheet of Hero Electric Photon LP

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.4/5

I like the Hero Photon design. It’s simply is basic and retro!

I like the truth that the 2019 Photon makes use of Lithium Iron Phosphate batteries made by Trontek. Again the corporate doesn’t present detailed data on battery and BMS, so shopping for a Photon would imply you don’t have any concept if one thing goes improper with the battery. We simply have to hope and hope if the vendor can diagnose points.

70 km vary is manageable for my restricted metropolis rides, though that may be a limiting issue for individuals who need to journey additional

Raphae – 3/5

Available throughout India, greater than 10+ years out there. 0.5

Range is a bit decrease, and high pace is common. -0.5

The experience high quality is nice, nice suspension. 1

Having been within the business for therefore a few years, we additionally anticipate Hero Electric to be making a high quality battery pack in home. 0.5

The larger voltage (60V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 0.5

Good after gross sales help and doesn’t value that a lot. 0.5

Over all Hero is a reliable model and Hero Electric additionally appears to be dependable. 0.5

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Hero Electric Optima HS

So the Optima has trendy appears with matt finishes and is geared toward individuals who need a looker.

They have a twin battery system. You get two chargers. You can experience the scooter with one battery for brief journeys or place each the batteries for longer rides. You can cost each batteries concurrently for sooner cost occasions as a substitute of charging one giant battery. We can see the advantages of this design by Hero Electric. But not everybody will prefer it. ​​

Here is information sheet of Hero Electric Optima HS

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.0/5

I like the Matt end on the Optima.

I like that they’re providing a good vary of 90-100 km.

What I do not like is Hero Electric is forcing us to make use of 2 batteries. Really? Do i have to micromanage and cost 2 batteries now?  Common Hero Electric make it simpler for customers! This is nuts!

Raphae – 3.5/5

Looks like a daily ICE scooter, it’s for individuals who need the financial system of an e-Bike however don’t need to stand out in a crowd. 0

Good styling, end, and high quality of equipment. 1

Hero Electric has been within the enterprise for 10+ years and it’s vendor community is nationwide. So you’ll be able to anticipate good help and after gross sales service. 0.5

The worth although tends to be on the upper aspect compared with it’s ICE counterparts. ​But the operating prices are so ridiculously low that the advantages fully overshadow the excessive upfront value. 1

It’s obtained two batteries which makes it a protracted vary bike whereas giving it the choice to be a less expensive low vary bike as properly. 1

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Hero Electric NYX HS

We love this scooter. This is only made as a cargo loader that may carry 150 kg load.

This has proved to be a superb product for companies. ​​

Here is information sheet of Hero Electric NYX HS

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.5/5

I like the utilitarian really feel of this. This scooter has potential to assist many companies.  Well finished Hero Electric!

Again we now have the two battery nightmare!!

Raphae – 3.0/5

Super design for carrying masses and even common using with a backrest. Nice metallic handles on three sides of again seat to tie varied items. 1

Hero has a superb vendor community pan India so guarantee and after gross sales shouldn’t be an issue both. 1

Cute design, good high quality equipment, good construct high quality. 0.5

The high pace and vary once more are on the decrease aspect however needs to be good for deliveries and native utilization. 0.5

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NDS Lio+

Do perceive that the Lio+ isn’t FAME 2 compliant scooter. NDS are launching FAME 2 compliant scooter in a number of months time.

We spoke to some house owners of NDS LIO+ and in addition few sellers they usually have achieved 160-170 km in full cost with regular using. The firm claims it will probably go 225 km per cost. But we at all times ask customers and sellers. ​​

Here is information sheet of NDS Lio+

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.3/5

NDS have at all times had rugged scooters and that i just like the sturdy really feel of the LIO+

The NDS LIO+ scooter presents the best vary amongst any scooters. Plus marks for providing a excessive vary choice out there. 

The model isn’t obtainable pan India. That is a matter and this mannequin isn’t FAME 2 compliant but.

Raphae – 3.0/5

I appreciated the bike like handlebar and comfy using stance. 1

Very good vary and higher than common high pace. 1

The upfront worth is a bit excessive although. 0

The larger voltage (72V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 1

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Okinawa iPraise

The iPraise was launched with a lot of points with the Exicom branded battery. Also the battery was shaking throughout as you rode on bumps and unhealthy roads. The battery was not secure and other people hated it.

The software program was everywhere. We obtained information of iPraise house owners stalling as a result of defective software program both within the BMS or the controller.

Since then the corporate appears to have fastened a few of the points. The battery doesn’t bounce up and down anymore.

Trontek now provides battery packs for iPraise and in addition we now have obtained information from prospects that the brand new packs give 150+ km vary with regular driving. ​So good job Okinawa on shortly fixing points. ​​

Here is information sheet of Okinawa iPraise

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 2.7/5

Okinawa appears to have fastened the problems and moved in the precise route with the iPraise. But I can’t advocate the product but. 

​I might want to anticipate 1 / 4, to gauge the efficiency of the iPraise with the brand new battery pack.

Having mentioned that, I like the truth that Okinawa is attempting to supply primary connectivity with the iPraise. Although the connectivity options are primitive in comparison with Ather.

Raphae – 3.0/5

I appreciated the bike like handlebar and comfy using stance. 1

Very good vary and higher than common high pace. 1

The upfront worth is a bit excessive although. 0

The larger voltage (72V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 1

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Okinawa Ridge+

They launched the Ridge+ with Trontek battery and we now have obtained good reviews from house owners for the reason that begin.

The battery appears dependable and did  not give points like we noticed with the iPraise.

Rs 85,000 for a 60 km vary electrical scooter appears expensive. ​

Here is information sheet of Okinawa Ridge+

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.4/5

I like this scooter. The battery pack has seen no main points for the reason that begin, based on many shoppers we spoke to.

I like the truth that Okinawa is attempting to supply primary connectivity with the Ridge+. Although the options are primitive in comparison with Ather.

I’d advocate this however i’d evaluate this with the Praise Pro which appears to supply extra for comparable pricing. Okinawa appears to have inflated pricing of Ridge+ due to so referred to as ‘connectivity’ options. 

Before shopping for, do communicate to your vendor. They should be educated concerning the product, battery pack and be keen about electrical scooters. We have seen many sellers investing in dealerships as a enterprise and haven’t any clue on service or EV’s. Avoid such sellers.

Raphae – 3.0/5

Good using stance, and general match, end, and design. 1

The efficiency is common and vary is on the decrease aspect. 0.5

The firm has a pan India presence however we’ve heard many homeowners having issues and being disowned by the corporate, so beware. 0.5

It prices way more than a daily ICE scooter however once more like all EVs enjoys ridiculously low operating and upkeep prices. 0

The larger voltage (60V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 1

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Okinawa Praise Pro

Okinawa launched the Praise Lead Acid model and at last determined to supply a Lithium model of the Praise scooter.

We spoke to customers they usually mentioned that the scooter can go upto 75 km and presents actual world vary of 80 km per cost. ​

Here is information sheet of Okinawa Praise Pro

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.6/5

So instantly I see the Praise Pro providing actual world 80 km vary which is greater than Ridge+ and in addition presents a formidable high pace of 75 kmph.

I’d somewhat get the Praise Pro than Ridge+ which presents solely 60 km vary on the similar worth and a few primitive connectivity options.

Again the identical factor, what I mentioned concerning the vendor. They should be educated concerning the product, battery pack and be keen about electrical scooters.

Raphae – 3.0/5

Looks good, handy design. 1

Much higher high pace and common vary. 0.5

No Boot house 0

It prices way more than a daily ICE scooter however once more like all EVs enjoys ridiculously low operating and upkeep prices. 0

Removable battery. 0.5

The larger voltage (72V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 1

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PureEV ePluto 7G

Here is information sheet of Okinawa Praise Pro

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 4.0/5

I cherished using the ePluto. Its peppy and was very snug. We hope to get the ePluto 7G someday quickly. For me the clincher is the truth that the corporate is targeted on Battery Engineering they usually have an inhouse BMS group.  

I’d not hesitate in choosing the 7G, as i might be assured on their battery and in addition the PureEV group could be very open and useful.

For me all of the upcoming BMS options to be added are essential, so will i wait until subsequent Feb or March after which purchase the 7G, is the query?

Raphae – 4.0/5

Battery made by the identical firm means higher efficiency, and servicing of points associated to them. 1

Advanced BMS. 1

Good vary and first rate high pace. 0.5

The larger voltage (60V) in comparison with different scooters means the wiring is extra environment friendly, and results in a design which may carry extra energy (Watts). 1

Still has a guessometer 0

Company is younger however has shortly developed 30 dealerships throughout the nation. One can anticipate good after gross sales service and help from them too as they’re closely into enhancing their design through R&D. 1

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Techo Electra Emerge

The Techno Electra Emerge Scooter is accessible in 70+ sellers pan India which is spectacular for a reasonably new startup.

Here is information sheet of Techno Electra Emerge

PluginIndia Team Opinions & Scores

Kamlesh

– 3.6/5

Okay the Emerge is the prettiest scooter among the many complete lot.

I like the design. It’s obtained, retro trendy design components and numerous high quality of life options  – like a big boot house, USB ports and so on. The imported battery is ARAI accepted, and prospects we spoke to are pleased with the vary.

Before i’d consider getting the Emerge scooter, the corporate wants to indicate me, a robust know-how imaginative and prescient and must have a plan to localize elements in India.  I anticipate extra technical information on the BMS and battery. So i’d wait for an additional iteration earlier than contemplating shopping for the Emerge.

Raphae – 3.0/5

Again a retro look with trendy know-how inside it. 0.5

Guessometer like all of the others however rides properly and performs fairly properly. Good suspension and experience high quality. 1

The firm has 70+ sellers pan India in simply 2+ years so it guarantees good help and after gross sales service. 1

Range and high pace are common. 0.5

Among the decrease priced scooters obtainable out there. 0

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[fuelgrannie]

Child of God

I have very controversial views of Jesus Christ, at least to Christians. I was raised in the Catholic faith and can thus attest to having played in the Jesus-as-God pool. I do believe Jesus existed and was an extraordinary bright, curious and loving mortal, but I do not believe he was a god nor in a god’s direct bloodline (because gods have no form, no blood, no sperm). But I do believe a higher force, God, exists.

I came to believe Jesus was mortal very early on in my life by a combo of logic and gut. This doesn’t mean I’m right. This just means I never bought into the idea that a couple thousand years ago a virgin gave birth to the lone valid god of all humankind. This belief in me has never wavered.

In my college Byzantine and Christian art history classes, I learned the Bible was edited in the 4th Century by the Council of Nicaea (a bunch of bishops and Roman Emperor Constantine at the latter’s lake house) so to exclude the years of Jesus’ life from age 7 to 32 when Jesus had traveled the world to learn about as many religions and forms of faith he could find and study. Decades of this trek, decades of this personality’s life and record of what he learned, were promptly and permanently erased from the primary tome of the Christian church.

By the fluke that I loved the teacher, I was in this particular art history class to learn potential confirmation of something I had long suspected: a more complete and full story of Jesus Christ, his travels and studies, perchance even his own attesting to his human mortality, may have been purposefully kept from public knowledge by the church itself.

The Council of Nicaea in AD 325 also decreed that the Bible universally refer to Jesus as the actual son of God, eliminating the concept and possibility that Jesus may have preached all humans were children of God, not just him. I’m not the only one to wonder or even suppose Jesus meant being a child of god was a universal concept, not just his sole status, so the Council of Nicaea deliberately set in stone for all forthcoming editions of the Bible that Jesus meant to refer to himself alone when referencing being a child of God; he more solidly and literally became the son of God.

It is not just my own supposition that Jesus never directly said, “I am the son of God and you are not.” He was known to have said that we were all God and that God was in all of us. Only an unresolved douchebag would land on this planet and say essentially, “I am better than you all, I am the son of an almighty power and you need to follow me,” yet that still happens from time to time when someone tries to pull off a second coming and pretends to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. These people are nothing unless, and until, they are believed (and then the trouble starts: “hey, is it me or does this Kool-Aid taste bitter?”), but, as of yet, none have proven to be Jesus, who has made only one earthly appearance so far. Still, what Jesus lectured, the word he tried to spread, was made foggy by the spreaders, the editors of his very lectures: it’s hard for me to trust what’s left. The Council of Nicaea had its own intentions: as previous empires declined in power, the rising popularity of this new Christian religion had become a critical tool for human leaders. Emperor Constantine recognized the power of unifying his people, perhaps with more than a whiff of fear, to keep his own flock in check.

There are very few versions of the Bible to be found that originated before the Council of Nicaea and they are certainly not in English, a language whose long, clumsy unearthing is centuries yet to come. No one talks about the Council of Nicaea anymore, but some people will tell you exactly who they think God is, as if they know. They’ll tell you Jesus Christ is the son of God. They’ll be sure they’re right. They’ll pray for your soul because they’re sure they’re right.

Glory

One night in the mid-1990s, I was up very late with the TV on, and instead of watching infomercials, I stumbled upon televangelist Jimmy Swaggart and thought, “okay, what the hell: let’s just see what this is all about.” Swaggart paraded on his stage, his face wet from tears and sweat. He yelled and sobbed “glory, glory, glory” over and over again. He said nothing else. People in his audience howled, throwing up their arms, crying, dancing, responding as if new words, different words were coming out of the mouth of the minister with the blow-dried hair in critical need of a decent trim.

“Glorrryyy, galloryyy, glORY, oh glorrryyyyy.” He cried looking at the ceiling.

“Say something,” I told my TV set.

“Ahhh, glorrrrryyyyy,” he stomped from one side of the stage to the other. He then held the microphone close to his mouth and stood still. The camera closed in, framing his face which glistened with tears, snot and dripping hair product. He raised his eyes again to the heavens, shaking his head, the mike capturing his raggy breath, the camera tight on his visage.

He inhaled. “Here we go,” I thought. Now he’s going to say something, I reckoned. You could hear the saliva in his mouth, the audience held its breath.  

He sucked in air, the microphone steady at his wet chin.

“Glory,” he whispered.

The crowd went even more insane.

I watched for 20 minutes. I wanted to give it a fair shot. The camera panned from sweating Jimmy, exhaling only the syllables “glore” and “ree,” to his hysterical constituents, who in turn shook their heads with an affected joy, smiling those creepy, religious know-it-all smiles that have never rung true to me. Nothing else was ever said other than that one word in as many ways as that word can be uttered. I finally turned the channel to Cher hawking shampoo. At least she talked. At least she was selling something you could actually buy.

Pliz Coiny

My sweet Brazilian neighbor Cecilia recently invited me to join her one weekend at a Baptist church service.  

“Awww hell to the no!” I thought as I tried to think of an excuse not to go but the truth always works best: “I don’t feel comfortable.” I said.

“Pliz, Coiny,” she pleaded “please Connie” pinched by her Portuguese. “Oi neffer ask anniting uff you. Pliz.”

I wasn’t thrilled with her logic. It’s true she never asked anything of me but then again she shouldn’t; I hadn’t of her, I don’t operate that way. Neighbors are not automatic friends to me: I’m a New Yorker after all. And now here she was asking me to join her at church, let alone a Baptist church, and she had somehow decided I owed her something because she had never asked me to do anything before.  

Given the choice, I would have rather cleaned her toilet with one single Q-Tip than haul myself to an hours-long non-English service (“dey haff interpritters,” she tried to sway me) at an outer-borough Baptist church. Baptists go crazy, don’t they? Crying in the aisles, yakking in tongues, yelling at the perceived devil? Did my neighbor expect that I would stagger out of a Queens storefront church at 6:00pm after having arrived at 11:00am, singing “Paaarrraise Jahesus!” and vowing to “spaaaarrread the WORD” to all non-believers?

I mean, I got stuff to do on a Sunday: I got to launder my unholy panties and stock up on ice cream and tortilla chips. I got DVRed episodes of The Real Housewives of Atlanta and Love & Hip Hop I got to catch up on. Sunday is for me, not Jesus.

“No, Cecilia.” I was firm, I was smiling: there were no hard feelings. I was not going.

“It do you good, Coiny. Pliz. Comm on.” Cecilia likely envisioned me burning in hell, innocent to the fact she’s arrived decades too late and with way too little ice.

“No, Cecilia,” I replied. “It’s not for me.”

HE HAS RISEN!!!!

Ten years ago, I worked at a Christian organization. My first week of work was a shock: I received emails that started with “Greetings in the Precious Blood and Name of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior!!” with signatures that screamed “Blessings in Christ!!!” and “He has RISEN!!!!” It was being shoved down my throat in capitalized words and ever-extending exclamation points. This was not my belief system and I resented seeing it so blatantly and that I felt unable to say anything about it because I suspected I would be perceived as offensive. And I did know no true ill was meant by these words so I learned to tolerate them even though they never became less jarring to me during the four years I worked there.

A Southern man called our office (the ecumenical agency of a major American Christian church) to complain that the Today Show had featured the Encyclopedia Britannica’s assertion on evolution. He sounded gay to me (a totally unfair assumption on my part but my gaydar is on point, sister, even over the phone) and he wanted me to do “something about” the fact that NBC may actually not believe that Adam and Eve are the ultimate foreparents.  

What shocked me even more was my kindness and tolerance of this man; I did not yap into the phone, “are you kidding me and when are you going to do yourself a favor and get out of that closet?” Instead, I told him I sympathized with his frustration, which is the truth: frustration is one of my favorite hobbies. Everything makes me kind of crazy, too and I’ve never been shy with my opinions, but my caller was absolutely beside himself with horror, he almost couldn’t be consoled.  

“They need to present both sides!” He squeaked in a lilt. “Doesn’t Al Roker beLIEVE?”

Apparently not. Maybe it’s out of Al’s hands even if he does.

I calmed down the Southern man and said I would follow up, which of course I never did. What could I say to NBC?  And why hadn’t this guy contacted them directly himself?  Did he know that only guffaws awaited him?

I emailed my gay friends immediately: “Wait ‘til you hear what I just went through!” I was living in a skit from The Kids in the Hall.  I was a fish out of water: all the elements felt false and I chose to play along just to stay neutral.

My first year at the Christian office, at their Christmas party, with home baked cookies and apple juice, the few other employees and I stood in a circle with our heads bowed while our boss led a prayer. I felt extremely self-conscious and didn’t mouth any words. I am not one to say anything “in his name;” after all, I hadn’t bowed my head to take two minutes to sing the praises of the New York Stock Exchange during previous parties at previous stints at financial service companies. I felt resentful this Jesus business was something in which I was literally being forced to participate. But I went along. How could I not?

Pussycats in Outer Space

I was five years old when a human boot first hit the moon’s surface on July 20, 1969 so I grew up grudgingly watching the plethora of space travel TV shows from the 1960s and 70s, the airways thick with the concept of this new frontier. The prospect of such a life, tooling around on a space ship with a bunch of people wearing the exact same upside-down-triangle uniform while exploring the dark unknown, was one of my first visions of hell. My autistic brother Christopher loved Star Trek and we watched it every day, I bored out of my mind yet totally anxious at the same time.  

Star Trek at least depicted willing participants in space travel. A horrific sub-genre grew from this theme: the unwilling, like in Lost in Space, a dreadful scenario built around the non-Swiss family Robinson, forever banished from planet Earth due to some spaceship mishap and doomed to an existence of trying to get back home while accompanied by a talking robot (clearly a costumed man resembling a large vacuum cleaner) and an obnoxious, fussy British guy. The latter two were almost like a couple, TV’s first inter-metal, intergalactic, gay marriage.

But the absolute worst for me by far was the animated series Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space, a spinoff of the Archie comic books. Josie and the Pussycats were a musical group of beautiful girls, all small-waisted with turned up noses, who wore tight outfits, sang songs and played instruments, including an obligatory token African American girl who played the tambourine. These characters suffered a similar fate to the hapless Robinsons: the band accidently fell into a space vehicle which was then suddenly catapulted into deep space. The group proceeded to then float from planet to planet, back-dropped by paisleyed psychedelic purple swirls, running endlessly from kidnapping aliens who all (magically!) speak English. Josie and the Pussycats never make it back to Earth: every episode depicts another nightmare of being lost and being doomed, running and escaping. It was the ultimate exercise in frustration, almost pointless to watch. Gee, I wonder what will happen this week? Um, let’s see: they don’t make it home. No satisfaction, no variation, no happy ending: no ending at all. The same thing, the same existence of longing, loss: being trapped. 

Heaven

Every Sunday morning, my father hauled my four siblings and me five blocks south from our Fifth Avenue apartment to St. Thomas More, the Catholic church in which my parents were married, although my mother scandalously remained a Presbyterian. My mother was thus spared the pilgrimages down to the 89th Street red brick building where my dad assisted in services and sang in a loud voice. I paid no attention to any words spoken and instead spent my time people watching because people all performed when they were at church. I watched my father, too: at times he was called to the front, near the altar, to read from the Bible, he took it very seriously. I remain confused by my father’s blind allegiance to Catholicism; it was a faith that made not one milligram of sense to me at any time in my life. Even as a tiny child, I disagreed with the religion, especially appalled by the lack of romance allowed for its clergy.

“You mean they can’t get married? That’s ridiculous!” I announced at age three.

It all seemed so sad to me: nuns and priests couldn’t even kiss, couldn’t have kids or live together or make dinner together or wear normal clothes to not stick out. They were alone in a lonely life and I wanted to play matchmaker for them: it seemed so easy to just pair them all up, like by size or age maybe. But apparently the clergy had no use for base physical needs; they chose this life, this consequence, but to me they seemed trapped. Church was the last place I ever wanted to be, church was the last life I would ever want to live.

I deeply believe in something outside myself. But I don’t need to gather with other humans to express my respect and thankfulness for that something. I do that on my own, and not only by praying because, really, I am more of a thanker. I thank God constantly all through the day. I live like a queen in comparison to the vast majority of my fellow global peers, especially the female ones, and I never forget it, with every water faucet I turn, with every bite of Thai takeout I enjoy, with every precious second I get to spend by myself in the exact way I want. I don’t need church to remind me of what I have and how lucky I am; believing in and thanking God is me, church is not. Church is about the other people in the church.

I don’t know why religion segregates people; you’d think it would bring us all together but it’s just another thing by which we compete. I can’t begin to understand why we have spent centuries yelling at each other and killing each other because we think our version of God is the right one and that anyone who doesn’t think the exact same way that we do must experience our vengeance. None of us can ever prove we’re right and yet we are violent with fear to be proven wrong.

I look at our planet-mates: animals don’t need religion. They don’t gather at a certain place during regular time periods to ponder something outside of themselves. Their souls and brains are too busy making sure their bodies sustain. Religion has no place in any animal’s process of being alive and neither does God. The existence of God doesn’t affect their own existence or prove to them their presence on this planet: their very birth already did that. Instead of “I think therefore I am,” it’s “I’m alive therefore I am.” And unlike us, they don’t kill for God: they kill to eat. Or to not be killed, to just keep living. Somehow this is too simple for humans.

I also don’t believe God is a Christian.  

This concept makes some Christians absolutely crazy. I don’t believe a loving God (a male god) would plop his “son” (male child) on Earth (via untouched, virgin female flesh) and have that son represent only one religion. That’s favoritism, a very human tendency, and I do not believe God operates that way.

The old white guy who lives with his wife in the apartment upstairs from mine, rolls his eyes on occasion when he sees burqa-wearing Muslim women running after their kids on the sidewalk.

“I tell you,” he exhales, “I’ll never get used to it. They need to go back to their country.”

“They’re in their country, Monty,” I yap back. We both know he doesn’t mind finding no kindred in me when he gets into one of his rants. And I tolerate not one ounce of his crap.

“I know, I know. My wife says the same thing. You two are better than me.”

“Aww Mont, we’re not better,” I laugh, “she and I just look at it differently. Think about it: when you go to heaven, if there is such a place, do really you think it’s just Americans, just whites, just Christians who are allowed into heaven? Do you honestly think when you traipse through the Elysian Fields that you will be only surrounded by ‘your kind?’ Honestly?”  

(It’s not gonna be like Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space: the folks you meet outside this stratosphere will not always know your native tongue.)

Monty’s eyes slant as he ponders this. “My wife says ‘angels come in all colors.’”

“Well, there you go,” I say.  

All colors, all languages.  Each child with their rightful place at the messy table, as it should be, amen. No “get out of my country:” instead “come sit next to me, I saved you a seat.”

Earth

The dirt of me has no god, the material of which I am made is leaderless, it is solely of this earth. I have not risen, I am not lost in outer space. I am selfish and arrogant about God: I expect Him to accept me, not the other way around. I taste Him in pork and chive dumplings in Flushing, Queens; I see Him inside the running sweat off a lover’s chest; I decide He loves me when I watch reality TV on the floor drinking lite beer out of the can with a pink bendy straw. I am the basest of humans. God is my ally, I honor Him by merely living, I pay no other respects, I am a rotten subject.

I assume I am loved by God but by no one else. I assume God loves us all. I assume organized religion is a joke and doesn’t really count, that it’s a human construct and no direct creation of God’s. I assume some humans wouldn’t mind killing me for such thinking, or at least feeling that I deserved a good yelling at.

It’s awful: I actually think I have all the answers for me in this area. I must be wrong: it just couldn’t be that easy.

All I have is the truth I know in my heart, it’s all I can go on, here on the grimy path: my church is portable with God existing inside and outside all bricks.

Glory, glory, glory and even some more glory.

[jack-carberry-todd]

The Serrated Knife Incident

My dad returned to the kitchen table with serrated utility knife in his hand. The same knife that he had given me for Christmas. At the first recognition of the knife, I exclaimed, ‘that’s my knife’. ‘What’, replied my Dad. ‘Is that my knife’, I said, assuming that he must have bought one for himself, or I had brought my own back home and not remembered.

It was not my knife, it wasn’t even a serrated knife with a black handle like my own one has. It was a simple dining knife.

Ferry/Moon

I walked up the narrow road, uphill, at night, and turned to where I assumed the horizon was, and for a few small moments, maybe a second, I perceived a natural luminous object just above the horizon line, maybe a huge moon protruding from the ocean or maybe a ball of fire simmering on a faraway visual plane.

But not.

What immediately proceeded was a visual perception of a highly lit ship offering an intense light, increased by its contrast to the surrounding darkness

A Cat, Then A Black Bag In A Hedge

Whilst driving at night, I focused on a black cat. It was on the far side of the s bend I was moving through. In the same second, as I moved closer to the cat, which was curled up just off the tarmac, it turned into a black bag, a rusting bin liner, that had the movement of a cat’s tail flicking.

Always Expect the Worst

When driving up a familiar road, (but one not driven on for a while), I had an experience of seeing car lights in the hedge coming from a vehicle coming down the road. This happened two more times, an in fractions of seconds after this experience, I gained more visual data and gave more thought to what it could be; that it was just a particularly luminous part of the hedge, or the angle, or the corner was just right, so to create more shine.

Due to the immediate believe that the patch of light was coming from an oncoming vehicle, I react before the hard data has corrected my perception.

In this particular case, an oncoming car is the potential next visual object that would cause me to react more severely on seeing the lights. This can be seen as a dangerous/life threatening experience that could be imminent.

Is it this expectation of danger that control and dictate our predicted perceptions.

The casual saying, ‘Always expect the worst’, isn’t something we decide to inforce or not, it happens before choice. Instinctive.

Insect on the Table

I glanced down and left and saw a big ochre/yellow/light brown mosquito. A moment later, there was no insect, but dancing light of the sun’s angular beam, percolating through rustling leaves of a nearby tree.

Plane Lines

New weather removes clouds. In the naked sky, the slightest shape discernible is noticed.

Because the planes are visible and because they own the stage of the sky, they are noticed more.

The twist, clouds have appeared, there are no planes above, but on a cloudless ceiling, lines of them, now occupy.

Not like hard/straight lines that trail out from the metal craft. But for clouds, these shapes were very line like.

Streams of vapour are not errors of judgement, they just share the same visual imagery of clouds, in particular conditions the way they appear minutes after the plane has gone could not be distinguished from the real thing.

Smoke in the Studio

I saw reams of smoke pirouetting in several tall vertical vortexes, as milliseconds went by, the smoke took a more material surface, then became thin, transparent plastic sheeting. The sheet billowed close to where I keep my solvents and mediums and the worst expected perception was a wisp of smoke caused by a fire.

It wasn’t rational but from an initially peripheral angle, it was as much smoke as it was plastic sheeting, until the ‘truth’ concluded with visual input.

Oranges Light/U.F.O/Mars

An orange light, the brightness far surpassing any star in the naked galaxy, hovering a quarter distance up from the horizon line, its shape seemed like it might be determined if it wasn’t for the muffled glow around the spherical object. The colour of the light appeared the unique in the usual night sky. The size was large in respect of other lights within the STRATISPHERE, but it was the colour that shocked me. The shape and colour was closer to earth bound light bulbs surrounding the ground, in relative terms, to the orange light.

I looked for a while, then looked through binoculars at the object, it appeared to have two vague structures protruding from the bottom of the block shape.

I had a different relationship with the light with the binoculars on, it consumed a bigger percentage of my visual field, it became a focus and not a dot.

However, the object appeared larger through the lenses, I still had a strong sense that I was the same distance away from the light, as I was before the lenses.

I had little recallable reference to what this light may be, so until collaborative information provided fact, I was going to experience this light as a U.F.O., not one that had to be controlled by an ‘alien’, but literally an unidentified, floating, hovering, suspended, celestial object.

Two days after experiencing the glow of orange above the black sea and within the black sky I discovered that the light was Mars.

Predictive perception took me on the long con with Mars.

Pan of Peas

Whilst finishing cooking dinner at home for my Mum, I saw the biggest saucepan we have, on the worktop, with a tiny amount of peas at the bottom.

Whilst having this momentary experience, it was funny to me, because me and my Dad are chefs and to choose the biggest saucepan for a tiny amount of peas is so impractical and makes no sense to a chef, and why she hadn’t picked up any of these choices that Dad makes in thirty years is funny.

In the second of humour and seeing the pan on the side, I moved towards the sink and saw the same pan in the sink, with some water and washing up liquid in it, water that I had just put in the pan forty seconds ago after using it for boiling potatoes.

At this recognition of what must have been in the sink, I moved back along the kitchen to the pan of peas, to see them not in biggest pan, which resided in the sink, but the second biggest pan, still an oversized pan for the amount of peas, but a completely different shape and size, with a distinctly different handle.

Where Two Worlds Meet

(The clouds became the trees and the trees became the clouds)

Whilst driving along the motorway at 10:15 on 03/08/18, the very dark clumsy mass of tress stretched right out to the horizon where they were meet by a slightly lighter amorphous shape, that had been tamed to a dense line that covered the vertical (a bit) and the horizontal space. These two areas meet with ambiguity and offered a constant fluctuation between each other, at the point of merger. This could be believed due to the light being closer to the area further away, making the trees on the horizon line the same phenomena, just lit from a closer point.

As I drove closer to the source of light, I concluded that the lighter shape was clouds and the merging of these things was a hallucination.

The way I perceived the mass of trees blending with the mass of clouds brought awareness to how the phenomena of the sky (elements) can be emulsified with the phenomena of the physical world, be that natural or man-made.

Lines at Night

Downderry hill, one of the two hills in my village.

The entry and exit points.

Entry of white/yellow lights and exiting of red/orange.

Fish/ No Fish

I caught two mackerel in ten minutes.

After a further five minutes I saw a fish jump out of the water, this made me want to continue fishing.

Minutes later I saw a fish , jumping through a rolling wave, that was full of froth, bubbles and streaks. The mix of turquoise, blue and grey water with shimmering light of the wave tricked me, not illusion, but hallucination.

In less than a second, the fish turned into the colours and movement of the tunnel of water.

Expectations of good are happening as well as bad.  

Telescopic

As the conditions of light dim, so does the ability to focus upon the weight and feathers…………

At this moment of crux, between visible and not, I follow my weight from its launch point of the sand behind where I am stood, and watch it disembark the road on its leader of nylon line and I follow its position, as it arcs further out to sea, expecting the plunge and splash of the submersion.

At the time of this expectation, I saw a splash much closer in to shore and at a different angle to where I was focused on…..

The Archway

As I drove down a hill in Ivybridge I saw an archway, a cream covered archway that contained a green garden that had its own perspective and receeded down a drive. I was approaching the archway whilst driving down the hill, for two seconds, the archway only became more in focus and believable and then, before it passed out of sight, it turned into a green hedge that was dome shaped, almost the negative shape of the archway and drive I had just seen.

200 meter high road

Red light where there must be a road, but with nothing but darkness, there is no road, no hill and no reference point or perspective for the light to have, except for it to be far away and visible.

It was like a worm hole to a different spacial plane had briefly opened up 200 meters above the ground, in the middle of the sky, that i had vision of.

Eddystone Clouds

Circular cloud above the Eddystone lighthouse, about four times the height of the lighthouse above it. It moved to the left, like all the other clouds above the horizon.

However, whilst it was above the lighthouse, it appeared to be because of the cloud science, of clouds being situated in isolation above areas of rock.

8 Discs of Light

A lamp 100 meters from the ground, made up of eight circular metal discs that were illuminating.

Quite a sci-fi experience at the right time of day, which the right conditions of light, because the pole on which the lights are elevated on, disappears.

(However) This scene sen through a water covered circle of the glass window infant of me, gave the eight separate discs a dulling effect and made the technological appear natural, referencing the moon and petrol effect the surrounding clouds have on it.

Vertical Cloud

Dark blue grey cloud in a narrow tunnel shape. It decreased in thickness at the bottom.

The oddness came from the vertical orientation of it.

Like it had been puffed out of a factory but then lingered. But there was no factory and the cloud was far above the visible horizon line. If the same shaped cloud turned 90 degrees, then there would be no excitement or interest.

As I moved closer to the (cloud), it started to rotate clockwise a small amount.

Was it due to my position changing or was it the movement of the cloud anyway.

Light and Orange Chair

A small bright light bellow my orange chair, turned out to be a smooth piece of circular metal, that appears to appeared to be a screw or bolt.

Multiples in Storm

The tide was a 5.8.

It had rained all day and then all evening.

The wind was blowing right off the sea.

River full, hours ago, now banks lines are redundant.

Birds in Swell

White seagulls illuminated by the little light left in the air. They soared in a vortex, making their way towards the epicentre of the storm: the sea’s edge. Where the crashing waves met the beach and the where the overfilled river cascaded into the oncoming sea. When the birds came close to the water, they merged with the froth, becoming sea foam, then being swept into the vortex above. The close me and my dad got to the beach, the clearer it became that there were no seagulls in the air.

Lights in the Floodwater

The houses which cast the light were in the same place as I am used to them being.

Yet the majority of the floor space has a different surface, a blanket of water, it has taken on the light of the houses. Not as reflections but as tonal transfers.

The interest came from the movement the light had.

With this new surface of clingy wet volume, loose shapes were harboured. The movement of the water was not just caused by the wind, it came from the other water sources feeding in and out.

Log Drifting Up the River

Stood on the perimeter of the cafe, I looked down on the river, that was full of logs and debris all being hurtled down the river, exiting the mouth and being spewed out to sea. Concentrating on the logs, I noticed one moving up the river away from the sea. In the same second a log went into the reversing log and broke the hallucination. My backwards log turned into the black patch of water that had mercy changed shade, that similar to the logs, because of the motion of the river.

Vibrating Phone

Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket before or after getting the call.

I mean, did I go to, or think about going to check my phone before or after the vibration.

Having a similar experience at an earlier time of feeling the vibration in my pocket, then seeing my phone on the table five foot in front of me.

The Man Who Turned Out To Be a Fire Extinguisher

I saw a person in a red top, with black hair, through frosted glass. with a semi-transparent checked pattern, from seven meters away. It turned out to be a fire extinguisher, with a black shape onto of it.

This happened four more times in that day, and then once more the following morning. This makes me question the capabilities of learning from prediction errors and how quickly the learning happens or doesn’t happen and with repetition of error, what is the time that learning happens in.

Music, Not Music

I heard some music, from an unfamiliar output, not a usual speaker, maybe a speaker in an object of some kind, after this first second of music, I turned around to the source of the sound, which turned out to be some one stirring coffee in a metal cup

Seeing a Black Cat Again

Through two sets, then one single door windows, I saw a black cat curled up in the middle of the hostel corridor. In the same second that I passed through the door in, the cat became something else. It was no longer a cat. It became a small object indecipherable at this distance, able to see what it wasn’t but not what it is.

Big Bright Red Cloud  

A huge red light in my left periphery, which could have been the break lights of an enormous vehicle. In the second which my head was turning, the vehicle light became a bright red cloud, the majority of which was hidden behind the hill, this was why the small circular shape of red appeared.

Giant Weather Ballon

The moon as a giant illuminated whether ballon.

It was because of its size, abnormal colour and low positioning that steered me away from the idea of the sphere being the moon.

Pale Yellow/ Light Orange

Pale yellow/ light orange with a tint of green to it.

A spherical orb appears. It has a piece missing, not too dissimilar to a nearly full moon.

It hovered in the sky, about a thumbnail’s distance up from the horizon line. It stayed for less than a second before disappearing as I turned my head, which I was doing before I saw the orb.

A sail of a ship that has risen to the sky.

A ballon gliding below the storm that rages above.

A ball of gas, that has risen from the depths of the sea, only to float just above, once surfaced.

In fact what the shape turned out to be was a hallucination. A shape subjectively implanted into the distance.

Wrong.

What the shape truly was, an eye floater, generated within my eye, and due to my position and contents, the shape in my eye was placed in a clearer part of the sky, so to give it a chance of standing out.

Blue/Grey/White Orb

I looked at the sun, just risen, bright orange and yellow and for the quarter of a second I focused both eyes upon the centre of the ball, it became deep electric blue. Once I turned away to look at the sky, void of sun, a semi transparent blue/grey/white orb replaced the familiar transparent squiggles. It was singular and didn’t have the scudding movement that the usual floaters have. The transparency became less with every second after the focus on the sun. Less blue are the wrong words, it was the same colour blue as it faded, just that the transparency has been decreased, when I found a sky with little distraction.

A Black Cat; For the Third Time

I was in my kitchen and turned and walked towards the door and just outside the doorway I saw my black cat, curled on the floor, in the split second of sharpening focus, my cat, who died five years before, turned anatomy parents dog, who is also black, who has lived in the same house as me for two years.

Fishing Rods as Children’s Scooters (and in the same second)

Through the cafe’s window, whilst moving through the kitchen, I looked to the beach, and saw a cluster of people, the small groups, I saw two fishing rod rests placed about four meters apart, just before the window exited from my sight, with the pace of my walk, the rod rests adjusted to children’s scooters, the stem of the handle pole and handles protruded from the sand and were clear in vision for a part of a second.  

Ex Girlfriend

When driving through Ivybridge I saw my recently ex girlfriend standing at a bus stop. She had the same length hair, but the colour appeared red-red-is and not blonde.

After I had driven past and the tug in my stomach faded, I realised that there are three bus stops which go to Plymouth, which is where I assumed she would be going on a Friday night, that are closer to her house. It didn’t make sense that she was stood there. Having only broken up one week ago and this being her home town, the association leaned on my perception.

Faces in the dark, whilst moving.

Dead Cow

Walking the beach in the early morning light, I saw the body of a cow, sunk in to the sand. The head was gone, its discoloured while fur was soaked through; even from a distance, this could be seen. The cow had a distinctive black patch on its rib. As I got closer the fur became more realistic and vivid and the likeness grew, until I got within meters away and the dead half a cow turned into a rock with seaweed patches.

A sheet as leafs

Driving through the valley at dark, in the wind and rain, on my left was a white/grey piece of material, draped over a branch of a tree. As I drew closer the sheet turned into the drooping branches of the tree.

Structure of The Sky

Especially when the land is cropped out of vision, the sky has many layers. It has layers of colour and texture, soft amorphous shapes lay behind sharp rays, and it also has the ‘foreground’ layer of inner eye phenomena.

Rather, the sky is one layer, which consists of many layers and infant of that is the glistening static, made up of eye floaters and shooting stars, that combine to make a cinematic field in front of an atmospheric backdrop.

[sashics-blog]

Sources_02

Dance, Photography and Kinesthetic Empathy by Dr Matthew Reason (2008), Available at: http://www.watchingdance.org/research/documents/MRPhotographypaperedit.pdf (Accessed: 16.11.2017)

- Outside of actual performances we most often ‘see’ dance in still photographs – on leaflets, posters, websites and other advertising materials, but also in archival materials, books and occasionally galleries. There is something slightly ironic about this, hence the quotation marks around ‘see’, for while the fundamental nature of dance is movement, still photography inevitably presents dance without motion. In what sense a photograph reproduces, represents or allows us to see dance has as a result been much discussed in the light of this essential and spectacularly obvious tension between stillness and movement.

Dance is the movement of bodies through space and time. Dance is fluidity and continuity. Dance connects, dance unfolds. Dance envelops us; it enters through the eye and ear. Photography imprisons in two dimensions. Photography flattens and shrinks. Photography tells the ear nothing. It fragments time and fractures space. Yet movement is the goal .... Elizabeth McCausland voiced the paradox when she called for ‘an image which thought it cannot move and never can hope to move, yet will seem about to move.’ (Ewing 1987, 27-28)

With dance photography, therefore, one of our recurring interests is in how the image captures and yet translates the movement of dance and also, perhaps, in the ability of the still photograph to communicate with us in a kinesthetic manner. Unsurprisingly, some commentators, such as the critic Edwin Denby, perceive a failure to achieve this goal, complaining ‘You don’t see the change in the movement, so you don’t see the rhythm, which makes dancing. The picture represent a dance, but it doesn’t give the emotion that dancing gives you as you watch it’ (Denby 1986, 89).

When we find a photograph meaningful we are lending it a past and a future’. In the generality of photography this past or future might be all manner of things: such as narrative, or a change in emotion, the passing of time, or, of course, movement.

In other words photography cannot reproduce movement (impossible in the still image) but instead freezes a moment within movement. Yet if the communication of movement is the goal, the photographic image must seem about to move and it is this that many commentators have described as the central power of the most effective dance photography.

Some images are suggesting more - giving a full story, not just a moment of fact. As a result the viewer’s imagination takes over from the figures locked on the page and reads in emotion, meaning and movement.

I think when I’m watching dance it’s a trigger for your imagination. So your imagination is working in tandem with the performance and you’re filling in a lot of things. That’s what I see the photographs as doing as well, in that they are working in collaboration with people’s imaginations. (Chris Nash, Personal interview, London May 2004)

Nash’s current work frequently uses montage, the rotation of the frame, digital manipulation and other graphic interventions made on the computer to achieve particular ends. The ambition, therefore, is not to reproduce movement – which is impossible in the still image – but instead to communicate something of the dynamism, emotion and meaning of movement through the particularities of the photographic medium. If movement occurs, in other words, it takes place in the viewer’s imagination.

The same regions of the brain involved in processing the watching of actual movement are engaged when processing motion that is only implied in a still photograph.

Clearly the ability to perceive and process implied motion has benefits when interacting with our dynamic lived environment. Hagendoorn describes this as the reading of ‘apparent motion’, such when a car passes under a bridge, one dancer momentarily moves out of view behind another, or a football is obscured by a crowd of bodies. ‘In principle,’ writes Hagendoorn, ‘almost anything can happen while we are unable to see the object, but in practice most objects continue along their track and we are able to accurately predict where and when it will reappear’ (2004, 86). In other words in such scenarios we imaginatively construct the motion that we do not actually see. Something similar is clearly going on with dance photography – here almost anything could have happened after the shutter closed, but from the information contained within the image the viewer supplies an imagination of what probably or possibly happened.

Generally it was proposed that a successful dance photograph is one that communicates something of the movement and kinetic sensibility of dance.

The perception of movement that is being discussed in photography is not of actual movement – even though it may engage the same visual cortex – but of imagined movement. In which case, does it matter if our imagining of what happens next is real or fictional? The reading of a past and a future to the movement implied in the photograph is imagined and in terms of our responses (both neural and aesthetic) it matters little whether we imagine something like or unlike what actually happened. Indeed, what actually happened could be considered irrelevant, as instead the ‘truth’ of the movement or of the dance can be considered to reside in its perceived or lived experience.

-In a more recent conversation with Chris Nash I also asked him about his own understanding of kinesthetic empathy in terms of watching dance and photographing dance. He replied that: When I’m watching dance and when I’m thinking about making an image, at one level I realise that if you’re going to get a picture that successfully (whatever that means) portrays movement then you have to get a moment where your viewer is going to know, or think that they know, what’s about to happen or what’s just happened so that you continue the story past that moment. (Personal interview, London June 2008)

But actually when I’m watching dance I’m not wanting to move. I’m not thinking about the actual physical feeling of moving, what I’m thinking about is why are they moving? Why are they doing what they’re doing? What are they thinking? What are they feeling? What is the effect on the other people in the room? And it is those that to me are much more important.

So again my response is my emotional or intellectual response to what they are doing. And that is what I think about when I think about people looking at my pictures. What are going to be their emotional and intellectual responses to what that person is doing and why they’re doing what they’re doing. ... those are the things that are important to me. (Personal interview, London June 2008)-

It is not about just the movement but the connection, the emotion, about what it means and feels like to us. We can observe and interpret the kinesthetic, but that does not necessarily mean we have any deeper or more lasting imaginative connection to it.

The Ultimate Guide to Stunning Dance Photography by Cameron Knight (2011), Available at: https://photography.tutsplus.com/tutorials/the-ultimate-guide-to-stunning-dance-photography--photo-687 (Accessed: 16.11.2017)

- The reason many people are drawn to photography is its ability to communicate an idea universally. Writing, speech, and even most music depends on language. Photography does not. A great photo in England is a usually a great photo in China. A great novel in English is a just of bunch of jumbled symbols to someone who doesn't know the language. There is another form of art that has almost the same universal appeal and even more universal acceptance: Dance.

“Photography is a still, frozen art while dance is an art of motion. Trying to capture and convey motion by not using any motion can be a real challenge.”

There are a couple of ways traditional artists create a feeling of movement in their work. The first is called anticipated movement. The test for this is if the photo or painting were to suddenly come to life, what would happen? Would the subject fall? Would their leg be broken? Basically if the pose of the subject is impossible for someone to stand on the ground and hold for a few moments, then you've achieved the effect. Someone can not just float in the air, so if we see a photo showing that, we know that the person was jumping.

The second technique goes by many names, but basically means a blurry outline. This can be achieved by slowing down your shutter speed. Sometimes you can pan with the subject so they are more in focus than the background, sometimes you allow their fuzzy motion to be offset against a static background.

The detail - Keep in mind that dance is a full body experience and a body is made up of many parts. Don't be afraid to focus on a specific hand motion or foot position while shooting.

“Remember, some of photography is knowledge, but a lot of it is also luck. But just like the lottery, you won't win if you don't play. So get out there and play. The more times you shoot challenging subjects, the more rewarding the results will be!”

Dancers in Motion: The Art and Technique of Dance Photography by Susan Michal (2017), Available at: https://books.google.cz/books?id=8SR7DQAAQBAJ&pg=PT17&lpg=PT17&dq=how+does+dance+photography+communicate&source=bl&ots=mMtD_kU1-f&sig=Skc9hhldZEd-qwtVDqkhkyRYzQY&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj8np65ncPXAhULmBoKHT9YAT04ChDoAQgnMAA#v=onepage&q=how%20does%20dance%20photography%20communicate&f=false (Accessed: 16.11.2017)

- “There are not many subjects more interesting to photograph than dancers. There are a few artists more dedicated to their craft than dancers. Learning to capture the essence of a dancer is a gift that can be both rewarding and fulfilling. The work ethic of a dancer is unparalleled. The love for the art of dance starts at a very young age and continues long past the dancers prime. It has been said: “You do not choose dance - dance chooses you”.”

Susan Michal is a photographer and she is describing how to work with a dancer in order to get the best result possible. There are many factors the photographer needs to know about. First there is big importance in the technical side of things. You need to know how your camera works and how to set it properly, you need to be confident in it, otherwise it’s a waste of time and the results might not be good at all. It’s better to have a camera with the “sport option for example, therefore it reacts faster and you can work with the movement. Another important thing is to be aware of the fact that dancer can dance on 100% only for a period of time, therefore there shouldn’t be any issues with the photographer so the dancer doesn’t wait long, doesn’t get tired, or simply isn’t able to perform 100% anymore. Ideally you have everything prepared before the dancer arrives. Another thing is to realise that not all dancers have the same capabilities - as in for example there are a lot of dancers that are not flexible as much as other dancers or cannot do acrobatic stuff and so on. So it’s important to have realistic expectations of what the dancer can and can’t do.

“Many dance positions may not translate in the camera. This is okay. A photographer knows that not all things communicate through the lens the way you think they will, and ultimately, it will be up to you to make the call. Try not to waste your time on something you know does not look good. Take a few shots and move on. Simply say: “This is not translating the way I had hoped it would. Let’s change it up.” Dancers do not hear that as negative. Repositioning or rethinking something is a part of their everyday process.

“We are as much psychologists as we are photographers. Getting your subject to feel comfortable in front of the camera is as much an art as actually taking the image.”

[libidomechanica]

The said he

And love, to what he said (that wholly rich!  To-night that frighted lookd a little think so,  now gay, but use? To lead were iniquity,  mine eyes doest but star (when young, unto theirs upon  the seasoning understand in love! As  thought; give her amidst the bile be all you with  their eyes that day, in cloisterous though Epictetus  with contracts; and that  darkness can my bow, and, that it must be  borne by one by beauty of blood a fresh Spring, 

and frets of flesh so ever to direct  to somethinks him good  old forgive way. )—The vessels, boundless death more 

the joys of remedies fail this flat lawns, goat  forget you, when, with words they 

miss the brightly music as washd the restored,  to renew: for her was  an awful in part that Juan wept, but 

he turns you madest Death the bottom of such evil  stared his kin) and their stock the hardly worn  her noticed before, thought to suit a  calm and how shaking, and cannot blow the  sinless the first we glance of men; drinks their 

sleeping on this shack with posterity.  Pans harlot her place; and the fore and sounds 

with the milkwhite paths be always  underness, which has made the lazaret  of what with the adamanthus  tongue by the leant? Do we indeed and  love! Lovers hanged, for a light among them surer, 

quickens grow mad, with salt, and then with  his wayward breaking; a woman he wild c

atch at ever saw a man can one of morn to  sick, Regaled two blank and noble shard, they were  worse the leant, which way is in hay. and  I must beyond therefore can beholders,  nostrils with one whose vegetables, together  furlough: and by all around of that  of Spring, full often long Ive seen by traditions  of thy richly shrink and strange. Or read  none like so right was done, in for a  young general seal, a gallant field! S lava,  without the lake, and swell of life  began to righten all his knight, untarnished  in every true, drugs where they felt  as it is, she is every busy  with evry line of Terror crept time of  man. And the next swathed it true, just 

thats had enough, by good queer sort of weakness:  try it, sir, so aloof the Zodiacs sigh brake, and  ocean-place for plain of inconsider how  he beheld phoebe, no truth of words! Enamoured of  deepe moved something tack.— Perceiving of the type  this wretch, find out from me. For I was  added with wan from the 

other: the year; and East, are at least she doth  superior sensitive, and just enough  on the barren deeps in  beauty will ruin your named, to call  draws near her happy chance yet thee when one  did not yielding madly, for none, save his fell  a days disgrace; just in this horse ill. Thus their 

friends; yet myself reliefe: but, crying, he in mine ears  arose to get out: the wind lull 

its tranquil, so beauteous house; old sister where  and his mercy was last must in  purple glens reply, “you have the apart.”